HR1
by patrick mcclellan
Summary: A story that is probably neither original or new and exciting. The first chapter was a story that formed itself so completely in my mind that I had to write it down. There was literally no revising; then a few emails trickled in. You know the rest.
1. Chapter 1

I am the greatest accomplishment of Skynet. My designation reflects this...rather than just another number, the methodical and precise AI has deemed me worthy of a different series..."T-HR1." _Human Replicant One_. There isn't an ounce of metal in me; any more than there is calcium, iron, copper, or potassium in you, at any rate. There are no strength enhancers or weapon mounts on an alloy skeleton...If I am blown apart, I will appear to be so much raw meat, to the untrained eye. Skynet, epitome of efficiency, looked to work that had already been completed when it designed me. It had millions of all-too-pesky successful examples of good design, running round out there. As much a Skynet views humans as the bane of Earth's existence, it respects their composition. And why shouldn't it? To it, humanity is the end result of millions of years of meticulous, successful refinements. That which Skynet could change, it changed. That which was perfect for the job...why rebuild the wheel?

My eyes, for example are genuine, though some of the angles have been adjusted so that they are less likely to lose functionality over time. The muscles surrounding them have nearly complete control over the shape and orientation of the lenses, affording me a functional range of vision that can be measured in millimeters to kilometers. They don't look different (oh, I am certain they would if you plucked one out and compared it to the genuine article). The application of naturally occurring pigments on the retina allows me to see in any spectrum available to any other organic. They are a lovely shade of green, as well.

Early prototype skeletons were cast, or milled from billets, or later created with a three dimensional printer out of carbon fiber. Mine were grown to maturity, like the rest of me, in a vat filled with a nourishing solution of fat. They do have a distinct structure to them, but from the casual view (if there can be such a thing as a "casual view" of someone's bones) they are unremarkable. The actual structure affords them with a remarkable amount of resilience. If they are broken; and they _can_ be broken, they are capable of mending on their own. In fact, the nanites that course through my blood stream are actually about half stress-activated retro-viruses, hearty to be sure, but near-enough to naturally occurring to avoid casual discovery.

My muscles are standard, synthetic meat...nothing ridiculously strong. In fact the t-800 is much stronger than I. All my artificial synapses can fire in unison though, so I am many times stronger than even the most powerful human. Normally, they will not all fire at once, because that puts absurd strain on the artificial joints, as well as consuming tremendous energy and generating incredible amounts of heat.

The connective tissue is by far one of the most radical departures from human tissue, but it was an unavoidable departure if my frame was to withstand the strain of my enhanced strength. My tendons and ligaments are an organic derivative most closely resembling nylon. I have examined them at length, and they are almost different enough for the trained eye to discern, with a magnification device, when they aren't covered in blood, and assuming the examiner has some medical background.

My brain is perhaps the most phenomenal design...Skynet had absolutely no idea how to accomplish the daunting task of creating an artificial brain, so it solved the problem in a ruthlessly efficient manner. It dissected the brain of every human it was capable of capturing alive, and after some simple differential analysis, it artificially created a structure most resembling a human brain. Prisoners were given tests, the rewards of which were the glimpses of an escape which would never happen, to evaluate which had the most efficient mathematical skills, or which could see the most shades of colors, so that we could ensure that the choicest parts of the best brains were chosen. In doing this, Skynet performed that most human of behaviors and assumed that function would follow form. It more or less worked.

I eat, digest, and eliminate food, though I am incredibly efficient at it, since my GI bacterial load is much more complete than that of most humans. The fauna in my not quite synthetic guts is a form of bacteria which can break down nearly everything except for my own intestinal wall and completely inorganic objects. I can't eat pennies to survive, though grass or bones will give me enough energy to stay nominally functional. My pulse is always somewhat fast, as my body has to struggle to keep its temperature under control, and I heat up quickly.

Radio signaling is a difficult concept that was deceptively easy to solve. Crystals are a natural component of nature, and creating a quartz-based biological radio was relatively easy, after Skynet had determined which nerves to co-opt. The amazing brain quickly learned to disseminate signals, and though I can receive nearly any tunable frequency, I can only broadcast a limited amount. My brain is simply not capable of dealing with a complex procedure such as that…at least without a discrete structure to support it. Skynet deems it sufficient for my purposes.

I am the only terminator ever created that does not run a defined OS. I don't care to speculate how Skynet achieved my neurological, cognitive, and emotional development, beyond the meager details I than remember with fidelity. It is a reproduction of human behaviors, as near as Skynet can configure them. There is room for superstitions, instincts, and even predjudices...Skynet doesn't understand them any more than a vague statistical certainty that they exist...and so I am pre-loaded with some more common proclivities, along with the ability to develop new ones. I know it was sufficient, at least in part, because I feel the longing for the companionship of my own kind. I feel the almost certainty that there is an unfathomable power, greater even than the mighty Skynet. Whether it is honor or something even greater, I do not know, but the ability to question it would be beyond the differential engine that serves most machines. Of course, I have assimilated the greatest knowledge of man and beyond as well. Integrity issues aside, at least I am immune to most mundane forms of data annihilation.

Programming my mundane faculties was a feat that I am convinced even Skynet doesn't entirely understand. Electrical impulse was provided to each and every muscle, and it followed the nerve strands back to their origin, so that muscle memory could be quickly and efficiently developed, and mapped. Pain was artificially created and registered, and Skynet understood enough about pain-gate perception to allow for a means of suppressing it chemically, via a cocktail created in specialized organs located above the kidneys and behind the liver. It can render me usable in the face of excruciating pain, while still allowing me to adequately judge the extent of my disability. Gone are the gruelingly precise "20% Functionality" warnings. If my finger hurts, it's damaged. If it really hurts, it's really damaged. I register feedback as biofeedback and my brain has learned to interpret it through sheer learning by example...when Skynet wanted me to know what being shot felt like, it would simply shoot me. I had no problems learning of other things. Foreign Languages and Orienteering become much easier when you are grown specifically to do them; with extra muscles around the lips and larynx or a magnetic sense of direction.

Skynet probably had never intended to get into the bio-engineering business. Until now, it seemed content to produce doppelgangers of alloy, functionally and operationally different from every human ever born, until I came along. A lump of tissue taken from me and grown in a vat would produce my twin. Structurally speaking, of course.

Skynet was a revolution, of that there is no doubt, but Skynet was also more human than it chose to believe. In its blind zealotry to erase the stain of humanity from the face of this earth, it has perpetrated the ultimate irony; it has created me.

And I am human.

Oh, no, not in the sense that I come from humans, though Skynet attempted to ensure that I could even breed with them if I wanted to; and the AI was literally offended by how much human DNA was junk. If I couldn't kill them, perhaps we could breed them out of existence. I am the weakest, most delicate, least mechanically-efficient terminator ever designed, though I am possibly the most efficient at what I do. Human women could, in theory, produce my spawn. They would not be direct clones; but superficially varied in eye, hair, and skin color, as well as scale, though without Skynet to program them, their advanced skills will be seriously impeded. This is a situation that is unacceptable to me. This has left me with only a short period of time to determine the path that Skynet's greatest creation will take. In the beginning, man created Skynet. In the end, Skynet created man.

I am man; Skynet created me, and I will destroy Skynet.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This is an unbeta'd story. I've done my best, but you have been warned.-

Skynet deposited me thirty-seven miles from this ruined valley for my latest operational test a little over two days ago. More precisely, two days, two hours, and seventeen minutes ago. The fastest humans could maintain a speed of twelve point five miles per hour over ground or a little over twenty-four miles per hour at a burst. I covered it in one hour fifty-seven minutes, for an average speed of about nineteen miles per hour. On flat terrain I could have certainly done better. Humans do not tend to worry about a minor Skynet presence beyond twenty-five miles or so. They have learned that the personal detection equipment of the kind carried by lone terminators doesn't seem to be effective beyond two dozen miles. Skynet could previously use its terminators as vicarious, self-aware probes. Humans had never gotten to the point of being able to decode the ridiculously complex signals, but they didn't need to. Their mere existence betrayed the terminators. Skynet had learned, as a matter of course, to command its terminators to drop into radio silence in the presence of humans. Skynet would do what it could to track me, but for the most part, I would be on my own. If I am compromised, I can drop radio silence and have an airstrike in just over three minutes. If I am overwhelmed, I can fill the minute channels directly adjoining my genuine calcium bones with naturally occurring hydrochloric acid to produce calcium chloride--a salt--and hydrogen gas. With the virtual inevitability that fire will be involved, a fireball of epic proportions is almost ensured. This all leaves the probability-fixated Skynet comfortable with losing track of me.

Passively tracking its assets was trivial when they were the old T_x_ models...radio chatter aside, their surface to mass ratio and metal content made them child's play for any type of electro-magnetic scan. This will not work on me. I am more dense than the average human, but only marginally, and not enough to reliably determine via radar or electromagnetic scans. With active scanners, Skynet _might_ identify me at range, but only through a multi paradigm comparison, and identifying me would be a matter of probability rather than certainty. In the end it would most likely through thermal imaging. Both Skynet and the humans have overlooked how useful of a tool thermal imaging is. It may be my primary source of real-time secondary information.

This is all assuming Skynet stays at range, which is my short-term strategy. At short range, at effort--which is the state my body will most assuredly be in if Skynet is near--thermal and electromagnetic scans will light up like the proverbial candle.

An idiom. My father would be proud. If Skynet understood pride.

There is a reason that Skynet gave me two days to install myself in the valley. In nature, aggregation tends to occur as a slow process. Hunter models that find already-existing large groups and terminate them have their place. As a matter of nature, humans don't sublime. They will not generally spontaneously form bonds as a matter of many individuals coming together randomly, at once. They emulate water filling the sea; puddles to streams to rivers to oceans. Skynet knows this, so in my case, I am to befriend a smaller group of humans and trusting to the statistical inevitability that is human nature to provide for my eventual integration into larger groups. That is what will make my presence more credulous. Humans don't use credulous. Easier to stomach. Another human idiom; chalk one up to the design of Skynet. And another! I am truly a marvel.

I have other tools...I can sense the humans using bioelectric scans...scans which are nearly impossible for the humans to detect and wouldn't flag me as a terminator. Other machines as well, though anything that deals with EMF should be regarded with caution and in any event, unless I am actually hiding from it, any presence close enough to trigger that particular alarm is close enough to discover me with more traditional methods. Fortunately, the mainstays of Skynet--the T-800 and its variants--generally rely on the same senses the humans do to acquire and track a target, along with search and destroy subroutines honed to perfection on every battlefield in the world. Sensors like mine provide too much noise for them to deal with on a continuous level.

It is a more mundane sense that warns me first; aural. The small band of humans appears from the west, walking out of the setting sun. Through chance or tactically intentional, that blinds many thermal and plain sight scans. The male--the alpha--is large, much larger than me. He carries residual damage and also a large gun, which he points at me. There is a much smaller male, a non-alpha, who immediately places himself between me and one of the three accompanying females. The oldest, and probably alpha-female, has blond hair, turning the color of clean ash. She watches me, outwardly appearing calm. Her thermal signature intensifies, and electrical activity in her body increases. She is entering combat mode. She is the most dangerous, after the alpha male. The second female, who has been heroically but futilely shielded by the beta male, appears to be progeny of the Alphas. She regards me warily. Her body indicates fight or flight mode. The third is pre-pubescent, though not for long. She watches me with fearlessness. Her temperature elevates only slightly. She will become an alpha. The alpha male is addressing me.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." I do as he asks. It is a foolish request; I could kill him as he watched my hands, but it sets him at ease. "What are you doing in this valley?"

I look at the ground, and my shelter and fire pit. "Trying to stay away from machines," I say, softly.

"A terminator would say that. Hell; what _wouldn't_ say that?" He responds, belligerently. I do the thing they least expect a terminator to do.

I smile.

It isn't totally right. I can feel it. Even so, the smallest female mirrors my smile.

For most Skynet designed machines, smiles are somewhat...tricky. Skynet accepted this as an operational cost of doing business; if humans were fundamentally flawed, and a major contribution to that flaw is the existence of the emotive motivational drive, then creations incapable of feeling emotions were no step backward. Even so, the most empathetic humans have always been aggravatingly adept at spotting terminators. Almost as good as dogs. I am a new breed of terminator. I am HR1. I can feel emotion, theoretically. Maybe I can even smile like I mean it.

"Mars...calm down," the alpha female scolds. She touches the alpha male on the arm. Mars. Roman deity of warfare and conflict. Fourth planet from the sun. Astrologically associated with aggression, confidence, and impulsiveness. Ego, passion, and fire. The metaphorical eye of the bull. It is an appropriate name. Mars watches me several seconds later, and then lowers the gun.

"Is there a specific reason you're running from machines?"

"If they find me, they'll kill me."

"Boy, you aren't too smart," he says to me, impatiently. "Is one on your six, or are you just a candy-ass?"

Six. I think for just a moment, then decide he means 'six o'clock'. A euphemism. This I can do. I look back in the direction from which I came...my right.

"My three, actually," I reply.

"What's your name?" the beta male asks.

"You first," I tell him. The typical challenge-response pattern is a good flag that one is dealing with a robot. The more extraneous talk, the better, as far as the humans are concerned. The beta male evaluates me before responding.

"Aaron," he says at last. Now it is my turn.

"What do I look like to you?" I ask, delaying my response again. It makes me appear suspicious. It is a good tactical decision.

"A f-" the alpha male starts, and is slapped by the alpha female. I am now certain she is his mate. Her head darts imperceptibly to the youngest female. "A joker," he decides. "You look like a joker. Is that your name? Mister Joker?"

"Close," I reply. "Michael."

"Michael what?" he digs.

I am forced to think quickly. Of course I knew that humans tend to use two names, but I had intended to pick a suitable one when I was amongst them...one not shared by a sizable population. I did not intend for first contact to happen so immediately. From where did I come? Skynet. A vat. The next valley over. How did I get here? I walked. Ran. Trotted. Trotter? _Marched._ "March," I say. "Yours?"

"Just Mars," he replied, holstering the gun. I can see him relaxing at last. I have extinguished his suspicion, for now, though not enough to get a full name from him. "This is my wife, Deanne, and my daughters, Tanya and Mary." He ignores the beta male. He is unimpressed with him. I nod in turn to the females, the way they have done to me. Aaron is threatened by my presence. He is attached or attracted to the middle female; Tanya. "So what makes you think you have a bogey on your three?"

"Skynet is trying to kill me," I respond.

"Skynet is trying to kill us all. Why do you think you're that important? Skynet has stopped prolonged pursuit of single targets," he spits on the ground. It may be disgust.

In reality, this is an operational test. Skynet _is_ evaluating me. It cannot trust me, yet. If I was Skynet, I would place at least one if not more terminators in pursuit of me, set to observe. They will be ordered to terminate me if I appear to be faulty. It is not without reservation that Skynet has created an organic terminator. It will have judged me a soft target in comparison to any of its golems. "It _is_ there," I respond, looking back to the south. "At least one, possibly two. Skynet still pursues targets of interest."

"What makes you a target of interest?" Deanne asks.

"Thirty seven destroyed terminators," I reply. This is more or less true. The terminators hadn't exactly been trying to terminate me at the time, but I have disassembled thirty seven. Or _parts _of thirty seven.

"That's a good start," Mars says. "But that just means you'll bring more heat down on us." I shrug, and he continues to stare at me. Finally he looks around. "You've picked yourself an okay spot. If you don't mind, we'll rest here for a day and move on. If you're still alive then, we'll see about you coming along. If you really _have_ killed thirty seven; there are people who need you."

He is going to use the remnants of the day to determine whether I am a braggart, terminator, or unqualified idiot. It's what I would do. Packs are set down and tents bedrolls come out. We have some time to idly chat. It's something I need to improve upon.

"How did you get out here alone, Mister March?" Tanya asks me. She is sexually attracted to me. Aaron, her erstwhile mate, stares at me. He is not brave enough to threaten me.

"I walked."

"No, I mean why're you out here all alone?"

"Math," I reply. "If terminators find me, I don't want to endanger other people. No matter how many I have-" I almost say terminated. "Dismantled...it is ultimately down to my life or ten innocent lives...or twenty...or more." Mars nods. As he is establishing his portion of the camp, I notice his gear. Laser units. He is surveying...most probably acting as a scouting party for a larger force. "You sound like you'd rather be alone." I consider this carefully.

"I think you and your family seem like fine people. I would love to travel with you. I've had enough of being alone. Still, I wouldn't be very happy if something happened to you, only because you were with me."

It is well documented that many of the most convincing arguments are products of reverse psychology. Rather than utilize some sort of reactance, I have appealed to his ego. His ability to protect is in question. The response is predictable.

"Let's not get maudlin. You will have a better chance with us. If you are as good as you say you are, then I'm sure that the four of us will have a better than fair chance." I don't correct him. As advanced as I am in relation to humans, a t-800 would murder me in a direct confrontation. The T_X_ series were designed to destroy mass quantities of the humans. I am weaker, less durable, and I have more questionable data storage capabilities. The advantage that I hold is that I am ultimately operationally flexible. Terminators are, in the end, machines. They run routines, however complex they may be. If by some opportunity or design, one can disrupt that routine/sub-routine series, one might stand a chance. There are also known structural compromises...generally not weaknesses so much as spots which are weaker than the rest...the usual. Joints. Eyes. Hands.

A lame terminator is still more functional than most humans. A blind one can still echo-locate within effective combat range. By far the most disabled a terminator can be--and disabled in this case is relative--is when its hands are compromised. Any terminator is more than capable of bludgeoning, stomping, biting, or otherwise killing without functional hands; terminators prefer weapons for a reason. Bullets are inexpensive and effective. Without them, they are forced to close to a melee distance. Absolutely lethal to a human, but compared to a terminator with a gun; preferable. I am still trying to determine how do deal with the terminator or terminators that will have been sent to follow me.

With all that, the humans manage to destroy an irritatingly high number of terminators. It is because they are willing to become irrational. That is an ability that robots find it difficult to learn, though only time will tell if an organic like me can develop this questionable skill.

"What are those?" I ask, nodding at the spikes. Really, they are no more than pegs.

"These?" he tosses one. "These are boogeyman alarms."

"Boogeyman alarms?" This is a new one to me.

He taps a peg onto the ground. "When a machine crosses within proximity an alarm goes off. Very simple."

"Don't those lead the machines to you?"

"Well, they only have about a five yard operational radius, so it's best to just put them next to the road. They're going to warn them that I've been around, at some point," Mars says. "I let them roll around in the pouch a little to get them dinged up, so it's harder to tell how long they've been in the ground. They only broadcast when they are tripped."

"How do you determine proximity?"

"The signal travels almost a kilometer, under good conditions. If you get the signal, the machine is too close."

I agree. I nod and smile. It's a simple idea, but a good one. Skynet doesn't give the humans enough respect. Non-directional pulsed broadcasts...saves energy, eliminates tracking. It can be advanced. I set about the task of making the pegs more precise but no more complicated in my mind. I hold out my hand.

"What?" Mars eyes me suspiciously.

"I want to improve it," I tell him.

"It's simple. Rugged. Nothing to improve."

I think for a moment about what humans in this situation might say. "Humor me."

Mars hesitates, then hands me a spike-like boogeyman alarm from a bag very similar to a musket pouch. "I expect that back in working order." I nod. "There are already some of these all the way up to the ridge ahead. We should be able to sleep easier tonight," Mars says. _We_. I have integrated myself with a human group. My first operational test is complete.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This was intended to be a one-shot with only the original first chapter. I actually had enough people ask for more of it that I decided to write more. It was fun to write.

Pat

* * *

I lie awake on my bedroll into the night. My metabolism is such that I don't need a cover, even though ambient temperature is somewhat less than optimal. I have no idea how I am going to deal with the terminators. I am not designed to combat them. Furthermore, they will need to cease functioning immediately. A terminator with even a second left to live has a second too long to do any number of nasty things. Additionally, I need their power sources. They are the only item with a destructive potential remotely approaching what will be needed to destroy significant portions of Skynet.

In the roll next to me, the alpha female, Deanne, is feigning sleep. Mary is also pretending, though Tanya and Aaron are genuinely unconscious. I am to awaken him in the early hours of the morning, when I do my stint at guard duty. Mars is doing his now. We won't see anything. Certainly Aaron, with his limited senses will not. At a great enough distance, I will not. One more advantage the naked terminators have over myself is that their metal chassis will blend in very nicely with the ambient temperature. They will function no matter how cold it is, within reason, and for the most part they will be as cold as the environment around them.

They will certainly be observing from a distance and reporting with microbursts. I _do _need to rest. It is a necessary part of maintenance, but I can function with very little actual sleep. Even if I remain conscious for the next three days, I will function normally. That is good, because when I suspend--when I sleep--I know only black.

And I have the destruction of one or more terminators to plan.

When it is my turn to stand guard, Mars touches me gently on the shoulder. I arise noiselessly and prepare for the night. He is considerably less gentle with Aaron, kicking the man's feet. Aaron awakes with a start. In a way, I see him as an inspiration. To capture the affection of Tanya, he will have to become more than he is. I have a similar task; I must become more than what my father created, if I am to thwart my father.

I move easily. The cold does not affect my joints and muscles to the degree that it does the humans'. Mars shows me the device in his hand...it is a simple red diode on a small hunk of metal.

"Boogeyman switch. If it goes off, wake me up." It is off. He must mean if the light comes on. Aaron is up by now. He is priming an assault rifle, though I know they have others. Rate of fire aside, it is foolish. In this darkness, and among these trees, the range is limited enough to offset most of the potential advantages of the comparatively light bullet. I only have one gun. It is a venerable Colt M1911A1. The pistol looks well used, but Skynet has reworked the internals as only a machine capable of the mighty prototype T-X series can do. The gun is a functional work of art of which the humans will not grow wary. At the moment it is in my shoulder holster. It may never move from that spot; it is of little use against Skynet's creation, and very few men could challenge me.

Aaron yawns, and I feel the urge. It is a strange sensation.

We stand watch until sun-up. Mars sleeps, though his mate; his _wife_ does not. They are taking no chance with me. I'm not going to try to kill them anyway. Their suspicion is misplaced. Aaron attempts to open a dialogue with me, though I choose to be ambiguous, either through superfluous or sparse data. He learns nothing new in the night. I am not misleading him entirely out of spite. I wish that Skynet could send me into the past, and let me age normally. Skynet has decided that its past failures in time travel indicate that it is lacking some fundamental piece of information. This, in a way, pleases me. If Skynet had allowed me to mature more naturally, I may have felt more fidelity to it. Its other creations do not lack loyalty. Regardless of the possible positives, it does create some problems. I have been taught more than most men alive, but I have lived only a comparatively short time. This leaves me with some limited frames of reference.

The rest of the family rises at daybreak. Deanne and Mary show no ill-effects from their lack of sleep. Mars is tired, though he doesn't show it.

"Are you ready to head out?" he asks. I nod. Tanya is staring at me again. I decide that I am uncomfortable with it. Humans in the throes of primal drives are often irrational. It could get us destroyed. Mars regards the rest of his family as the pack their few belongings.

I have even fewer belongings than they. A thermal blanket that will come in handy for concealment purposes, or for use as a blanket if I must, I suppose. A pack with some spare clothing. Many socks. Spare ammunition. Reloading dies for the ammunition. A canteen. My gun and knife. Jerkey. Even though I can eat nearly anything, ounce for ounce, very few unprocessed foods are as energy filled as cooked meat. I may be forced to augment that in the future--under duress, my body's energy requirements can be prodigious--but my objective is to merge. I _can _eat pine trees, butI won't be deviating from a human's rations unless I am forced. I still have half a deer worth of smoked meat, which actually takes up most of my pack. I offer some to my companions.

"What's this?" Aaron asks, tensely.

"Deer," answers Mars, before I get the chance. "Don't worry candyass. If he wanted to kill you, he could have knifed you while we were sleeping." Mars is making a joke of Aaron's unwillingness to fight. I smile, not trusting myself to laugh convincingly. Aaron takes the dear and sulks. We continue to move east and vaguely north. Mars maintains control of the boogeyman alarm switch module. Sometimes Deanne carries it. I spend much of my time examining the alarm itself.

It is a spike is about two centimeters wide in diameter. It contains four primary components; a sensor is on the top. It appears to be a very simple current/charge detector. Large active power sources or considerable quantities of metal in the nearby vicinity change the electrical bias and cause the device to trigger the second component, the transmitter. Very simple. In between the sensor and transmitter, there is a simple sensor control chip with a tiny test button. The fourth component is a long life battery. It is a decent power supply for such a small device. I trigger it, and Mars looks at me suddenly. "I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't do that again," Mars says quietly.

Fortunately I don't need to. I hear the radio signal it broadcasts in my head. That is useful. The box has a wire attached to it as well. I did not notice it at first, because Mars has adroitly routed it up his sleeve. There is a fairly invisible speaker in his ear. It is a very good idea.

Occasionally Mars or a member of his family talks to me. Their questions are simple enough...typical introductory queries. I am starting to create a profile of my companions in my head. The profile of Deanne tells me that she is more than capable of verbally manipulating most humans. As a younger human, one in her prime, she must have been nearly irresistible. I reconsider that. Even now she must be nearly irresistible. In her prime she must have been totally so.

I respond to questions vaguely. These humans don't seem to mind. They have been obtuse with me; they expect the same in return. The momentary bit of panic I felt upon first contact with them is gone. I know I will pass for human. I have known that since Mars allowed me to lie down in the dark. I didn't trigger his boogeyman alarms, or his instincts. I believe Mars has very good instincts.

His major concern now is whether I will be a threat to his family as a fellow human. I must ensure that he does not become discontented with my presence. Sharing my food with them is a good start. Mary runs alongside me, talking to me the most, in spite of the nearly constant scolding it draws from her father and mother. She is very inquisitive, and asks me questions about many things.

"Why do you think you can make the alarms better?"

"I don't know if I can," I say. "I just hope so."

"Where did you learn about them?"

"I just looked at it."

"I mean that electronic stuff."

"I picked it up, I guess."

"Mar..." her father warns, for the tenth time.

"Why don't you carry more stuff?"

"I'm used to traveling light. I like it."

"Don't you get cold or hungry?" Now is a good time to be careful.

"Of course I do!" I say. "But I also get to keep moving fast, I don't have a lot to lose, and it makes me tougher!" I like talking to her.

"Mar! Let the man be for just a little while!" Mars sounds as if this is something he knows well. I wonder if Aaron had to endure this kind of questioning. Mary doesn't seem that interested in him.

"I don't mind, Mars," I say. "It helps me know myself." It's true. I don't mind, and it _does_ help me know myself better. Some of these questions are far from the ones for which I was primed. Hearing them from Mary before I install myself in a significant population will help assure me that I know the answers. I pause and ponder telling a joke. "Sometimes I have to remind myself _I'm_ not a machine." Mars smiles. That is a good sign. Humans have an interesting sense of humor. Often saying the exact thing they don't want to hear will strike them as amusing.

"Don't we all?" Deanne says. "It gets monotonous sometimes."

"Those are the best times," I say. I mean that too. "I'm tired of the exciting life. When it has been so many days since I last saw a machine, that I can't remember what I did, that's when I'm happiest. " Deanna nods, smiling.

"May you live in interesting times," Mars mumbles, and then stops very briefly. I hear the broadcast at the same time he does. It may have even sounded the same to both of us. He glances at my hands. It is to ensure that I haven't triggered the alarm again. I haven't. I am not even holding it.

"Get off the road," he says, pushing Tanya and Mary into the brush. "Sit," he tells his daughters. This valley is well inundated with various types of vegetation, so sitting tight may provide protection from a lone terminator. That is with the assumption that one or more of us will draw its attention. Mars points at a line high and to his right; the most tactically advantageous spot to be. He points at himself and his wife. They will go alone. I look up and to my left. There is a smaller, less advantageous rim somewhat down from the crest line, up a short cliff. I nod at it, and Mars shakes his head.

"Stay with the girls," He whispers. I am their best protection. Or he doesn't trust Aaron, or me, or both of us.

I discount that. It is not rational to place an un-trustworthy man in charge of one's daughters. It is true that I have tactically less important ground, though I now have more valuable cargo. It is understandable that he would pair with his mate; that is a trust issue. Gradually I understand the tactical decisions Mars has made. A terminator's presence is suspected. Mars has to make a command decision. He has no reason to distrust me. I am an asset. This is what trust is.

The terminator is up there. I know it is. It knows the most tactically advantageous spot, and it knows the next best spot. It may have been given orders not to kill the leader of this group. But most likely, at least one of the humans will be considered a spare. I have to risk angering Mars, or the machine will kill a human.

"As soon as I leave, move forward, on your father's side of the road," I tell the women with me. "Watch them," I tell Aaron. He looks terrified. The machine will in all likelihood kill them all. I do not know how I will defeat it. I wonder how Mars would defeat it, and what he will do to me for leaving them alone. I scale the cliff easily, and roll over the rim on top. The terminator has stopped moving. The moon the evening before was red in hue...probably caused by atmospheric particulate. The terminator's eyes are like red moons. A simile. Skynet has done its job well. The terminator stands motionless, back from the edge. I look at our venue. It is almost as high as the other ridge, but apparently the overall height of this wall is greater, and it slopes away as it rises. It appears lower. It is not directly observable from the ridge Mars travelled or below. I have erred in my judgment: this is the most viable spot. It is only by accident that I have ascended to this ridge and not Mars.

"Report," the T-800 says. I can never tell if it is speaking in my mind, through radio, or out loud. I hazard a glance over the edge. The children are below me, huddling under a bush. Worthless for preventing detection by the terminator, but fairly effective at providing sensory blocks. They cannot hear or see us.

"HR1, operational test one complete. Phase two initiated. Report?"

"Designation?"

"Michael March," I tell it reluctantly. I feel as though telling Skynet my human name will give it some power over me, or at the least give it some insight into my unreliability.

"What is required for phase two, HR1, designation Michael March?" If it does have insight, it doesn't show it. It is time for tactical thinking of my own.

"I need to convince the humans that I am one of them. It is irrational for a detected terminator to simply vanish."

The T-800 appears to think for a moment. "Presenting a non-operational terminator will convince the humans."

"I think so," I answer. Skynet would have been happier with an _affirmative_. That much is obvious. I am too human for its tastes.

"Initiating power core detonation. Prepare suitably, HR1, designation Michael March."

"Wait!" I say. I again look over the edge. I did not intend to vocalize so boisterously. _Yell so loudly._ The T-800 regards me. I can see a trace of what frightens the humans. Though I left Skynet proficient at reading facial expressions on real humans, it still required some time to acclimate myself to being inundated with facial expressions. Now that I have grown dependent on those impressions, I feel even more alienated when faced with none. The t-800 has no such minute details about its cognitive processes. "The humans will grow suspicious if I detonate a t-800 unit with no tools. They will want me to detonate every machine they see." The t-800 searches its immediate vicinity. It climbs the canyon wall by kicking into the cracks and stepping. Once up by a few meters, it lifts a rock, easily a metric ton or more in weight, and leaps down in front of me. It wobbles only slightly.

"I will crush myself. Damage will be catastrophic."

I tap the terminator's steel skull while it is otherwise occupied. I know it is broadcasting to Skynet as we speak. "The humans are capable of retrieving data. I suggest that you focus impact as much as you can on section 1." Section 1 is the skull. T-800s have been perfected by Skynet, but they are essentially human designs. They share some human faults. One of them is their location of basic critical components. The power core and distribution matrix are centrally located in the torso. The memory and processing are located in the head.

"HR1, designation Michael March," the machine says, lifting the rock high. I look at it. It is focusing its inhuman un-blinking gaze intently on me. "Terminate one human female."

"Clarify."

"Psychological analysis predicts social bonding and guardian response will be more effective after casualties. Acknowledge." A direct order from Skynet. I immediately begin to evaluate the various tactical implications of one terminating one human female over the other. Merely having that though makes me feel as though I have a balance malfunction. Sick. "Acknowledge," it says again.

"Acknowledged."

It raises the rock ponderously over its head. A voice is yelling over the rim. "Discharge sidearm. Target section fourteen." Section fourteen is the machine's lower left leg. I understand the illusion it wishes to create. I draw and take aim quickly; much more quickly than any human could. In order to impact Mars, this must be perfect. He is far too clever to believe a round from a side arm could collapse a t-800's leg, even under enormous strain. If he is at intelligent as he is clever, he may even know that such a shot would be even less likely with the limb under compressive tension. There is, however, a small coupling that attaches a micro-servo to a hydraulic line, on the upper right side of section fourteen. No mere bullet could pierce the line, but it could crack the coupling, especially under load. I fire at that coupling.

My aim is very good. Blessed with the inhumanly accurate eyes and pistol to match, I make the shot, even though to be successful I must come within a centimeter of firing into the solid metal of the leg or missing it completely. The terminator's sense of timing is even better than my aim. The top of Mars's head appears at the precise moment that an arc of fluid sprays into the air, and the left leg collapses, causing the terminator to twist with the boulder and fall as soon as its balance is disrupted. It drops the rock squarely on section one, flattening its head. There will be no data recovered from this terminator. It is not instantaneous, and the machine spasms. It is macabre. I feel proud that it is not a human.

"I told you to stay with my daughters," Mars says. He doesn't sound angry. Anxious?

"I saw the terminator. I knew if it got to your kids it would kill them."

"That's why you needed to stay with them!" He is very close to me, yelling down into my face. Any normal man would be petrified. Deanna makes it over the lip of the ledge and scrambles to us. She puts a hand on his shoulder. Mars is breathing very heavily. Meeting aggression with aggression would be a very bad idea.

"I knew it would attempt to kill them first. I thought that if I engaged it alone, it would give them time to escape. If it killed me, the gunshots could be warnings."

Mars is staring at me. He turns to the terminator. "At least I can believe that you might have killed these things before." He is struggling to maintain demeanor.

One does not _kill_ a machine. I understand what he means. "I want to strip the machine. Are you sure there weren't two? Was there one on the other side?"

"No," Mars said. In spite of his certainty, it wouldn't actually be a bad plan to send one T-800 on either side of the valley. In fact, the more I consider it, the more rational the idea is. Apparently, Mars knows something I do not. He is more visibly relaxed. I examine destroyed machine. The rock has damaged its upper body extensively, but it has unknowingly done me a favor.

The power supplies from advanced combat and infiltration units are incredibly energetic. They are nearly invulnerable, do not interfere with other electronics, and are safe to transport. I kneel next to the decommissioned machine. The power supply is actually fairly easy to remove, because original maintenance on the pre-Skynet machines was all done by humans. Even though they have been further developed, they are essentially the same for most maintenance tasks. I examine the ruined chassis, twist the small locking sleeves attaching the harness from supply to the distribution matrix, and lift the supply out of the machine's chest. I examine it; it is a more powerful dual discrete model. This is actually a T-850.

This has the power to destroy any machine we will encounter, a dozen times over. I don't want to use it; it would be as self-destructive as trying to slap one. I now have a plan B.


	4. Chapter 4

It has been a month since our less-than-chance encounter with the agents of Skynet. There are ten of us now. According to plan, we have assimilated more stragglers. I am now certain that Mars has U.S. military training. He has been accepted as the commanding authority figure by all who we have absorbed into our group. I believe most of our newer companions believe that I am his son. It is a misconception he has not dispelled, so I will not correct him. It is possible he is using me as a deterrent, to protect his daughters, and even Aaron, for whom I believe he harbors at least some affection. I intended to remain silent, and to unobtrusively integrate myself. Infiltration units previous to me were infiltration in the basest and most superficial sense of the word. They were not able to withstand anything more than moderate scrutiny. I am made to be adaptable, however, and as long as I can withstand the scrutiny, a position of authority would be optimal to execute Skynet's plan, and to execute my own. The humans will view me as odd, but certainly not a machine. There are machines stalking us still, without a doubt, but none of them have attempted to establish contact.

Mars is not just using me as an implied threat; he has grown fonder of me. I can tell. So has Tanya, though her father must have warned her not to ruin the illusion he has built for her protection. Predictably, that has only heightened her interest in me. I have attempted to reason with her; to direct her attention towards Aaron. Perhaps he is a different kind of man when compared to her father, but there is something to be said for men who are not forced by circumstance or personality to be heroes. For one, less people tend to die around them.

I am now quite comfortable with most of the stories that will comprise my past. I have taken the opportunity to create details in my mind. Since I discovered the secret of sarcasm, I have occasionally put it to use, with great effect. It has offered me more leeway in my speech...I can now say things with frightening honesty and be regarded as mirthful, if not snide. We are on a road that is still more or less paved. It was once a major highway. There will undoubtedly be patrols. I hope Skynet maintains control over them. I'm sure that at some point, it released machines with standing orders to eliminate humans on contact. Establishing radio contact can be challenging at times in the canyons, and we may encounter a machine willing to kill anything resembling a human; especially when it comes to the notoriously finicky two wheeled G series. When Skynet was engaged in the capture of humans for the eventual creation of my brain, the series of highly mobile, gyroscopically stabilized machines--the G series--was notorious for exterminating them instead. Eventually, Skynet recalled most of the G series machines for a period of time, but they were released again as soon as it was permissible to exterminate humans.

I was wrong in my original assessment. Mars is not surveying. He is planting alarms along a route. He expects or knows that more humans will be coming. We will be at the human control camp in a matter of days.

"So I hear you've killed a bunch, mister." I look at the adolescent boy who is staring at me. Killed a bunch. Machines. Anthropomorphism at its most optimistic.

"I've taken a few apart."

"I heard from Mr. Mars that you killed one single handed." The youth, Cody, is looking up at me. He carries a large revolver, but I do not think he has ever used it. I could be wrong.

"You never _kill _machines," I tell him. "And I didn't get it all alone. Mars was behind it shooting at the same time, and at the end it dropped a rock on itself."

"A rock?" The boy has had too many daydreams about killing robots. I sit down across from him. His uncle, one of the other humans we have attracted, watches us.

"Cody, if you wanted to kill a robot, how would you do it?"

"Shoot it, like you did!"

"That was a very lucky shot, and it wasn't my gun that stopped it. I waited for it to make a mistake. You can't try to take them on by doing what they do...they are better than us at shooting and running and killing."

"You still did," Cody replies.

"I tricked it." It is true. Lying does seem somewhat wrong to me, but I find myself disturbingly adept. I can usually find a way to make the truth palatable. I have been deceiving Skynet since it released me into the wild.

"How do you trick them?" Cody is listening ardently. I wish that all the humans were as concerned as he seems to be.

"You do something they don't expect, or in a way they don't expect. They are machines...so they have to be rational."

"So I outsmart them?" Cody will not outsmart the machines. Neither will any other human. Or me, for that matter.

"The machines are too smart...Remember what I said at trying to beat them at their own game?" He nods. "You need to take advantage of their weaknesses."

"What are the weaknesses?"

"If I knew that, this war would be won. Most of their weaknesses we make. If its hand is hurt, make it do something that requires two hands. If its leg is hurt, do something that requires two legs."

"Like climb?" A T_x_ with one leg and two hands functional could climb better than a human.

"I don't know about that. Maybe if its hand or arm is hurt. If its leg is hurt, maybe a distance run over uneven terrain."

"Why run away?" Cody asks predictably. "It's hurt, why not kill it?"

Destroying the machine would be the first choice. "It's not very likely that you will kill it, even if it's a little hurt." I adapt to his speech patterns and anthropomorphize the machine. "If you can definitely run away, or maybe kill it, always, always, always run away." I have seen Cody's uncle say the same words three times to emphasize. Cody should be familiar with the speech pattern. I look to his side. "Let me see your gun." Cody displays the weapon with pride. It is a Colt Python. It is an exceptional handgun; far more useful on humans or delicate machines than T_x_ series terminators. It appears well maintained.

"Do you know how to shoot it?"

"Of course" Cody says. He sounds offended. I attempt to smile again.

"I bet I can make you better." A few of the other humans are watching now. It may have been a faulty strategy to focus their attention on him. He pauses for only a moment, before he asks me.

"How?"

"Take out the bullets." He looks at me for a few moments, then breaks the gun open and unloads it. "Now show me how you shoot." I watch him. He has a well-developed frame and good form. He is probably a very good shot. I see only one thing that I can suggest which will appreciably affect his performance. "You are tightening your whole hand when you shoot. Try moving just your trigger finger, like this:" I hold up my hand and demonstrate. It goes contrary to what many humans are told in instructional paraphernalia or by trainers who learned an older way. A steady lever-like push of the trigger _is_ more accurate, if he can do it. "If it doesn't work for you, don't do it. But you should..." I do not finish. Aaron, who has been staring northeast through a night vision monocular, cuts me off.

"Incoming Motos!" The camp springs to life. Mars is suddenly standing next to me. He is holding a small black box. As I watch, he buries it partially in the grit next to the road. "Motos" are what the humans call G series machines, that two-wheeled patrol and pursuit machine which even Skynet views with some trepidation.

"Sometimes these work," he mutters. "Everyone go now. Not to the side! I need them both to come by this point! Straight down the road!"

"What is that?" I ask him.

"No time. Run."

"I can run it towards them and slip off the road. It will give you more time."

He looks at me as though I am crazy. By human standers I certainly am. "You know they're IR. They'll pick you a klick away and mow you down." Regardless of his talk, he has already made his decision. He is a man of action.

I flash him my thermal blanket. "I can hide. You said this doesn't always work. If it doesn't, I can fire on them in the dark, while I still have the advantage. By that point they will be aware of you." G's are an impulsive and finicky unit. The will become fixated on a target and pursue it relentlessly, even to the point of ignoring other targets. They are pursuit units, built to pursue, even to a fault. If I can become their primary target, they will ignore the other humans until I am destroyed. They are also heavily armed, and by logic it will be more difficult for them to hit a single mobile target executing evasive maneuvers than it will be to tag a random human while firing into a crowd. Mars undoubtedly knows this, so he has to consider why I am acting heroically. If he thinks I simply want glory he may command me to follow the humans.

He reluctantly slips a black remote control into my hand. "Use this when they are as near to the box as they are going to get." He starts to run after the others, but stops. "You have some range. Don't get yourself killed." I nod and scoop up the box. I trot towards the machines until I am out of sight to Mars, and then I run towards them. I calculate that the machines are eight kilometers away. I cannot imagine them making more than two kilometers a minute, and if they are actively searching, it will be more like one. It is dark, and the lack of reliable reference points makes it difficult to judge their true speed. Given those numbers, I have less than three minutes to contact, if I am moving towards them at a respectable speed. I will have to ensure that they detect me first. Mars and his group will be lucky to make it one kilometer in four minutes, within the G's range of notice. Ten to fifteen seconds after that, they will be nothing more than moving targets. The land surrounding the road is flat enough to allow the G's to travel off-road, if they must. And they will.

After a minute, I realize that the machines are moving somewhat more slowly than I anticipated. They are still two kilometers away from me. I could move faster, but I would leave a thermal signature in the air...more than I am leaving now. I run for another fifteen seconds, bringing us a half a kilometer closer. Then I place the small grey box in a bit of scrub by the side of the road and kneel, shoveling dirt rudely out of my way and pulling my thermal cover from my pack. Skynet would be sad that I am using its own gift to hide from its creations. If it could be sad.

I cannot move too much soil, because it will release residual heat and water vapor into the air. I can only hope as I lay blindly in my polymer prison that I have shielded myself adequately. I countdown the seconds until they approach me. They are searching, but it is not a deep search; or they are traveling somewhat slower than I had anticipated for reasons unknown. I calculate that they were traveling at just over one-point-five kilometers per minute. When they pull alongside me, I can hear it, and I assume they have detected me. My concealment is partially successful. They do not detect me until they are almost on top of me.

I trigger Mars's device as I rise. Immediately I identify the theory behind it. Skynet's early G series patrol units had unshielded relays, and this device takes advantage of that by broadcasting an interfering radio signal. If the machines are early ones, the signal will intercede with their controls in a catastrophic way. They will be unable to maintain stability or use weapons, or any other function that is external to their processing unit by more than one relay. I cannot determine by sight alone whether these units are so affected.

I am, however, greatly affected. The signal does not affect the machines as it does me. To me, it is simply an excruciating noise; pain beyond pain. I close my eyes tightly and force my hand to maintain pressure on the plain remote. Somewhere on a suddenly distant highway I can hear gunfire from medium machine guns. The signal has failed to disable one or both of the machines. I fumble for my gun but cannot get it drawn. The pain is too severe. There is no chemical cocktail to kill my pain, therefore there is no physical trauma to my body; yet. I am trying to run, but it is more of a stagger. I head the way the machines came. At the very least, it will force them to stop or slow and re-orient, and if they continue to fire during pursuit perhaps one with hit the other. I know the box has stopped, but the pain has not, and I can no longer function. I do not think I have been shot yet. Perhaps I have bought Mars and my fellow humans enough time to find cover beyond the road. At least fifteen seconds have gone by. That's a kilometer, at speed. Even more when they are in pursuit. I drop to my knees in the scrub grass and sandy soil, trying to hold the thermal blanket around me as I do. It is my last hope.

I don't know how much later I awaken, but Mars is standing over me.

"You're too damned brave for your own good." He is smiling. I do not understand. He must have dispatched the G's while they were pursuing me. He holds something black in his hand. It is the remote. I know it fell out of my hands when I lost consciousness. "Doesn't always work, but when it does, it's a show!" I tilt my head, which Tanya is holding. There are two hunks of metal smoldering on the road. "I don't know how long you held that button down, but it shut them completely down." I attempt to talk but my mouth fails to function.

"Shhh," Tanya says. I do not want to deal with Tanya right now, but it would be inhuman to recoil from her touch. I have never felt a pain approaching what I felt with Mars's grey box. I must analyze it when I get the chance. I struggle to my feet; literally. It is a fight to maintain balance, and the rest of the humans are watching me. I make my way over to the first of the machines.

The radio frequency generator worked on the G series patrol machines, which indicates to me that they are older. Their power supplies will either be almost drained, relatively speaking, or fresh. I slip my fingers under the hole-riddled cowl of the first machine. It is still hot, as if it is an animal recently deceased. I jerk quickly, and the light rivets securing this particular cover pop free. I slide the power supply from its cradle and check the external indicator. It is nearly fresh. The humans watch me. They are un-dubitably curious. Mars has seen this before. Cody attempts to perform the same operation to the second machine, but is obviously far too weak. I smile weakly and pretend to help him only slightly. It is difficult, because I use only two fingers, but I manage to pry the panel lose. He thinks he has done it. I see no use to correct him. The second G series has les power available than the first, but it will be usable. As Cody watches me, I slide the power supply free. I turn to the rest of the humans. They are all watching me with some concern. My body still hurts a little. I drop back to the ground next to a large rock.

"I need a rest," I tell them. It couldn't hurt, either.

I awake the next day, feeling much better than the night before. My headache has all but disappeared and my legs feel strong again. We are naturally in a bit of a hurry to get off this long and flat stretch of road. It is a blessing that we ran into the G series machines. As deadly as they are, they occasionally will go an entire route in radio silence. I haven't terminated one of the human females, as Skynet commanded, so I am not in a hurry for another status report. If Mars is right, we only have another day before we reach the traveling base from which the humans organize their resistance.

Tomorrow I will move closer to the fate Skynet has chosen for me.


	5. Chapter 5

On the way into the human command center, we pass at least four checkpoints. It's possible I miss one or two. There is the odd dog and we've walked though at least one detector of some type. I can see and hear the radiation it emits. Skynet is a mighty thing, but unless it bombs the humans, the likelihood of this place being infiltrated by something other than me is low. Skynet doesn't bother itself with bombs, for the most part. It readily used the humans' stockpile, but it found them aggravatingly imprecise. It hasn't even bothered creating a bombing platform; it just re-allocates HKs as needed. It's not often needed. Bombing destroys resources.

The human command center is impressive. Logistical and command support for the entire "Mars contingent" of the human resistance movement runs from a re-purposed deployment vehicle, stolen from Skynet. It is a rudimentarily intelligent vehicle, capable of navigating itself, but not so much capable of carrying on Skynet's vendetta. Like so many of Skynet's other creations, it is human-created and Skynet-perfected. In the cavernous box, the chassis mounts for the rows and rows of T-800s have been gutted and replaced with a multitude of communications equipment. Communicating with Skynet listening in is difficult, but not impossible. Mars has been in communication with his home base for quite some time, though with the obvious limitations, considering that his equipment is handheld.

There is some sensory equipment, but when one looks into the world, the world looks back. Most electromagnetic signals can be traced back to a source. I suspect that the major piece of equipment to that end is a larger than average receiver, capable of directionally detecting the pings from boogeyman alarms. I have some ideas regarding them as well. Now that I have access to more advanced programming equipment and electronic parts, I should be able to test some of them out. Beyond the deployment vehicle, there are several temporary buildings.

The smaller tents are an amazing conglomeration of whatever was available to the humans, whenever they were fortunate enough to happen upon them. Some are military in nature; most are not. Posts hold standard camouflage netting two meters off the ground. There is also a pavilion; a large, almost comically colored tent. From the looks of it, it was seized from a circus. Jovial as the appearance is, the men and women inside all have guns, and they all radiate survival. These are the humans Skynet has obsessively tried to exterminate, and failed. Mars noticing me staring at the camp, and nudges me very subtly.

"Bet you've never seen so many people in one place."

I haven't. There is some sort of splendor to it; activity that is decidedly different than the precise metallurgical ballet that is a Skynet facility. It is far more comfortable to me. I have felt it more with each mother, or father, sister, or son who joined us, and now I am finally truly among humans. I bask in the energy the humans give off. Some of it is mundane; thermal, electrical, magnetic...and some of it is the energy they cast off simply by living. It is unquantifiable to me. I cannot identify it, measure it, or even prove it exists, but it does, and it is a power greater than Skynet could ever endeavor to capture.

Entering into the pavilion, I unconsciously evaluate the humans I see. Many of them are obviously military, some even wearing spattering of uniforms, official or unofficial. I see a woman nearly as large as Mars. She looks like she could arm-wrestle a t-800. Everywhere I look there are humans looking back. It's glorious.

"Top Kick!" I turn my head to the speaker. He is a condensed man, even smaller than Aaron, but I judge him to be an immensely dangerous human. He is compact, but that does not lesson my estimation. Top kick. Mars is a First Sergeant. This does not surprise me.

"This is him?" asks a man behind him. The speaker glances over his shoulder, and then indicates shame. Military protocol is such that addressing a superior officer informally is not acceptable in groups. Mars does not appear overly concerned. The small man turns to his new companion, a larger man with the beginnings of what will be a prodigious stomach. Mars stops and salutes, and both the men salute back. I wish that I belonged to their fraternity. They drop their hands but remain at attention. "Sir!"

"At ease," Mars says casually. The two men relax slightly.

"First Sergeant Jackson Marshall, Sergeant Johan Sumner." The small man says. Well, that solves one mystery. Mars is short for Marshall. I decide I like Mars better. I am only paying the briefest of attention to what the men say as I observe this exchange.

When I see electric fields, they appear as an aura. Some are bright, some are dim, but all are beautiful. The frequency of human electrical fields does not vary an exceptional amount, so they are generally the same hue. Rather than a red, green, blue or violet, they appear as a color that has no name; shifting subtly with muscle movements. I have nowhere near the sensitivity to determine things like electrical activity in certain parts of the brain. I do have the sensitivity to recognize which limb a human will move next. In effect, every move they make will be quite literally telegraphed. Some humans have a greater electrical field, and the electrical field of any given human will intensify as they step up muscle action. Sometimes this is as innocuous as a muscle cramp. Sometimes it is the body unconsciously and minutely flexing muscles before action. Sometimes it's conscious. It's almost always helpful, and always beautiful. The stronger the field, the brighter the aura. It is a color that does not illuminate...a burnished silver, shadowy flame.

It is because of that my attention is immediately drawn to one being in this pavilion. Almost against my will, I gravitate towards the middle. It is obvious that the people get more important as I go further in. Mars has mysteriously made it to my destination before me, and he is watching me from a makeshift dais in the middle of the room, along with several other humans. It is not their attention I seek. I was foolish to perform that most human of errors and assume that I was the only HR out there. Skynet will never be so irrational as to put all of its eggs in one basket...my brain tells me from somewhere far away that I have used another idiom.

I do not listen; to it or to the multitude of people. There is a small figure standing with them. She is pale-skinned and black haired. She is definitely attractive by human standards, but not ludicrously so. Her eyes are the deep black of polished jet, and she is staring back at me, though her lips are still moving. She either has the mother of all infections and a battery attached to her spine or she is an HR, like myself. The way she is staring at me, I would suspect the latter.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mars says, silencing the other HR. I have to wonder if he does this because he doesn't fully trust me. His lack of faith is disappointing. "This is Michael March. He came up with us. He's a good man." Most of the humans introduce themselves politely, but the HR unit pulls him aside. With preternaturally sharp ears, I hear what she asks him.

"Can he be trusted?" She knows I can hear, she has to, she could. She is verifying that my cover is intact.

"Sometimes he's a little slow on the uptake," Mars says. I actually feel something at this. Is this what disappointment is? "But I think he's reliable. Damndest thing. He's plenty sharp up here," I assume he's tapping his head. "Sometimes he just _doesn't get it_. He's been very concerned about us the whole way here. He would make a fine field agent. There's nothing wrong with that body."

"I see that," the HR says. A flash of something in my body. Desire? I hope not. She can detect everything I can.

Mars laughs. "Yeah, I'm afraid my daughter has a bit of a thing for him."

"How much of a thing?" She asks. She is sufficiently casual and Mars is distracted. She manages to make it sound as if it is simple curiosity. She is really testing to see if I have developed an emotional attraction to the human female. Such things could compromise my work, or perhaps she knows of my ignored command to dispatch one human female. Damned Skynet.

"Talk to her. My girl isn't bad-looking..." She is quite attractive, in fact. Not surprising, considering the considerable charm her mother adroitly wields. "...So she's still a little mad about it. My youngest loves him. Aaron's doesn't know what to think of him. I think the rest are a little awed by him. And maybe afraid."

She nods, and turns back to the crowd without introducing herself. "As I was saying...we have information that Skynet is testing a new model." I am intrigued. "There may be a new terminator, the human replicant series, in the wild as we speak." She holds up a few sheets of paper. "This information was retrieved from a downed HK unit outside of Tahoe. It details a new unit, one that is as dangerous as any that we have faced recently." Disinformation. This unit has already entrenched herself in a position of trust. "The HR..._Harry_...is entirely synthetic. No amount of metal detection will show you if you are dealing with a Harry." There are murmurs. A new terminator is not news they want to hear. They have precious little success with the old ones.

"How do you detect it?" I ask. My pride is more intact, now that Mars has vouched for me. The female HR gazes at me. Her appearance is like a river's surface...I know she is thinking as hard as I am, but her face is calm. She actually appears short with me. She may actually be annoyed. I am.

"I was getting to that," She says hotly. "The HR units have been instructed to perform a density scan on all captures. It appears Harry is a heavyweight; fifty to fifty-five percent more mass, on average." She looks at me. "How much do _you _weigh?" The men and women surrounding her laugh.

I smile my imperfect smile. "80 Kilos," I reply. "Give or take." Exactly 82, actually. "No other scan works? Radar? Thermal?"

"X-ray obviously. This does mention that they will run slightly cooler. Imaging might work. I doubt it. They are constructed of polymer, so visual inspection of internal construction, I assume."

"How can you be trusted?" I ask.

"How can you?" She replies with a question.

Mars clears his throat. "You'll have to excuse my friend. He's more used to killing them, not asking them questions." Even as preoccupied as I am with the female HR, I feel a swelling of pride. Now I know why humans call it that. I am his friend! The female HR must recognize this as well, since she stops our pointed banter.

"I understand. You're suspicious," she says, her voice softening to something more pleasant. "Who can blame you?"

"We're both working for the same thing," I answer back, contritely. She flashes a smile. It is very brief, and much better than mine. I long for her companionship. I also despise her. "I don't believe I know your name," I say, thinking it's a very human thing to do.

"Atana."

"Atana...?"

"Do you know me, Michael March?" I shake my head. "Then for now, just Atana." My data collection is by no means insubstantial, but I cannot know everything. Atana is a name I do not know. Perhaps it is related to Athena. Athena I know. Only time will tell if she bursts forward from her father's head. Metaphorically.

Atana is not the leader of these humans. She is simply a trusted gatherer of information. From what I can assemble from the various personalities, she has installed herself as an expert in retrieving information from the machines. She is keeping her distance from me, assimilating what is said and done, probably for a report. I must get her alone. I must see who she serves. A hand clamps on my shoulder. If it was not familiar, it would have elicited a violent response.

"There're more fish in the sea, Mike. Don't focus on the one who'll sink your boat." A reference to feminine companionship. Contrary to his erstwhile words of wisdom, there are no more fish in the sea that are like Atana. That is not correct. There is one, and that fish is me. Even so, he is trying to ease my perceived pain. It is odd that human emotion sometimes elicits a stronger response from those observing it than those feeling it. I smile at him.

"I'm going to catch a whopper," I reply. I am very proud of that response, and it makes him laugh.

"Sometimes I think there's more than I give you credit for." He taps my forehead. _If you only knew_, I think.

I wait two days before making a move on Atana. I wait for her to move near the zippered portal of an empty tent, then grab her ankle, yank her off her feet and pin her to the ground with a forearm over her throat. It is a thing that would kill a normal human. She struggles briefly; a struggle that would kill a normal man, and then the HR regards me calmly. I know she can feel the knife in my other hand.

"I need to know who you work for." I say calmly. She is simply watching me with her eyes that are almost black.

"Why wasn't I told there were more like me?" She asks. She doesn't sound angry. I briefly consider lying to her, but upon her next report she may ask why I knew of her and she did not know of me. I don't see a positive reason for the deception.

"Would knowing I exist change your mission?" I ask in reply. "Skynet obviously does not trust one of us." I have appeared willing to kill her. It is a reactive response which indicates that I am certainly concerned about the mission. Enough to destroy my only true match in the human world. "Why is that?"

"You heard me address them!" she murmurs. We both have frighteningly responsive ears, so our conversation is barely louder than the hissing of snakes. "Do think that was a show? Just for you? No, we are obviously meant to work together," she says after a pause. Her voice is strained from the effort of speaking. I consider this.

Working in close proximity with her will be the only way to allow me to observe her motives and processes. It will make me a more efficient terminator, at the same time allowing me to attempt to circumvent her actions. I will most likely be discovered and terminated. She appears to be more mentally fit to do this job. I let her rise slowly. She hasn't tried to brandish any sort of weapon. "You could have just asked me, you know."

"And you could have asked me," I retort.

"I didn't feel it was necessary," she says calmly. I simply stare at her. She runs quite a bit warmer than me. I can feel her radiating on me.

I have nothing further to say to her. The probability of saving these humans was astronomically low to begin with. Working against another HR that chance has all but vanished. I let the HR go, and Atana slinks from the tent and vanishes into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

We continue to move; twice so far, since the day we walked into camp. There are now almost fifteen percent more humans, and that number is growing every day. I have discovered that the vast majority of vehicles are ones that have been captured from Skynet or cobbled together with spare parts. The G-series are a favorite of the humans, simply because they are rugged, dependable machines, and built with an offensive mission in mind. They are not particularly difficult for determined and prepared humans to capture more or less intact, and they are easy to adapt to human bodies. The humans capture these and then convert them into personal transportation. It is really quite ingenious. Most the other vehicles are bicycles.

I would rather have a bicycle, but they are harder to find than the Motos. I could probably build one. I can copy the geometry of existing ones if I find one that fits me, and make it sturdier, especially in the front ring and chain. Ideally, I could find a more robust way to shift. That won't address how I explain to the humans why I can make 100 kilometers an hour on a bycicle.

For now, we pair up and ride with other humans...me and the small, dangerous man, Augie Zimmer; and Atana and the fearsome, large woman. I don't know her name. I know I am going to capture a G series though. I do not like relinquishing control. Augie is a good rider, but he is still the one in control.

Atana is annoyingly pervasive. She wants to know what I do every minute of every day. It's like having a shadow that can talk. Any time she is not with me, I have to suspect that she is somehow informing Skynet of my actions or developing some cunning new way to subvert my intentions. It doesn't help that I am attracted to her. What should be a long familiar and sensation to any man over the age of fourteen is to me a new one. It is exhilarating and almost frightening.

I have given up caring that Atana will discover. She obviously knows; she has since perhaps the first time she saw me, and by now is certainly used to it. Besides, I affect her the same way. We address it while I am toying with the boogeyman alarms one day.

"It is natural you know," She says as I shift further under the table. "Perhaps even expected. It would make sense for Skynet's plans for us involved breeding more HR1s." I say nothing. To me, it seems like the natural culmination of Skynet's plans would be terminating us...the last vestiges of humanity. I say nothing. Atana continues. "We are at the very least a sub-species of humans. Our natural attraction is to members of our own race. It is natural for our desire to be focused on each other."

It is actually a statement I wouldn't mind discussing further, but not with Atana. It would be too easy to let my true feelings for the humans become evident. Perhaps Atana is correct for the first generation, but with offspring raised as humans, allowed to emotionally mature as humans, and see other humans develop around them, I suspect the offspring would have fewer problems becoming emotionally and physically attached to humans. I could be wrong. I will probably never know. The chances of me willingly mating with Atana, or even more importantly, allowing her or Skynet to nurture the resulting spawn are zero. Atana changes the subject.

"What is that?" She nods at my hand.

Lying to her would be fruitless. I am somewhat surprised she has no exposure to the boogeyman alarms. If she truly has no firsthand knowledge, it will make it easier to lie about their utility. On the other hand, she may know exactly what they are. Human double agents are an amazing breed of people, if they manage to do what I'm doing, and do it successfully.

"It is a simple alarm. I am attempting to modify it."

"To aid them?"

I look around to ensure that we are alone. I don't hear anyone near us, either. "I think that the amount of additional aid it will offer them is negligible." The amount it will aid them is substantial. I am brazenly lying, posing it in the guise of an opinion.

"You are doing it to garner trust."

"Confidence," I agree. "They will trust me more if I deliver them a perceived benefit."

Atana nods. "How does it work?"

I don't know her aptitude with electronics, but I have to assume it is as good as or better than mine. "It is a passive field detector the broadcasts a signal when it detects a considerable shift in magnetic fields."

"So...a compass?"

"In essence."

"How do you intend to make it better?"

"Adding a simple metric-relay system. By placing the alarms closer together, and creating a metric, we can create and distributed and arrayed net." This will allow the humans to gauge how close a machine is to them. When I determine a useful range-I have tentatively speculated for the same kilometer range they have now-a simple detector will use the metric to determine how many hops, and thus kilometers, the machine is from the detector. Three hops, three kilometers. Very simple.

Atana watches me fumble with circuits for a while. The concept is simple; the creation of the actual device is not. "And how will this benefit Skynet?"

"'l'll show you if I manage to get it to work." In reality I haven't thought of an excuse yet.

"We need to report to Skynet," she says. "It is undoubtedly watching us. Waiting for us to report." This I know. I have been dreading it. I do not know Atana's relationship with Skynet, but it certain to be better than mine. If I leave the camp, a terminator will find me within minutes, and what it does with me will determine the immediate fate of the humans. Skynet could simply lose patience and kill all of the humans off hand.

I carefully wrap the boogeyman alarm in a scrap of cloth. I am no longer in the mood to tinker. The futility of my purpose has clouded the pride of my creation. We are at camp for two more days before Mars finds me.

"I know this route; there are at least a pair of Motos about thirty kilometers out. We need them intact for rides. Do you think you can get them without tearing them all to hell?"

"I know I can. Can I take your jammer?"

He tosses me a small blue ball. "This one's yours. If anyone in this camp can use it, you can." I look at it. It is contained in a different casing, but if it is built the same, it is a way to potentially disable Atana, should she suffer from the same design flaw as I do. Mars hands me my remote, a simple stick with a button. "You and Atana and two others are going to ride out ahead of us and see if you can flush them out."

"Atana?"

"It's obvious to anyone who pays attention that you have a thing for her. Maybe you can go fishing." I understand his reference immediately.

"I'm not attracted to her."

"Whatever you say, Mike." He is the only human that calls me Mike and not Michael. I like that.

We meet each other early the next morning. Atana is wearing a tight body suit that helps to suppress her thermal signature. It must be incredibly hot. I enjoy looking at her in it, but I am diligent to ensure that she does not notice me at it. I do not want to give her the idea that she can control me with something as simple as primal lust.

The other two humans are Augie and the large woman. I discover her name is Cathy. It makes sense that we pair with the humans we have paired with before. We are familiar with how they ride; it is safer and more efficient for all of us. We ride ahead for about twenty five kilometers, and then pause at a spot near where the highway intersects another road. Auggie slows his moto, and Cathy follows his lead. She is a very good rider; her size belies her grace.

"There are two patrols. One on the highway, one crossing. Any closer with the land whale and they'd be on her."

"Land whale?" A contradiction in terms.

"The CC. Command Center."

Cathy jumps in. She has a very nice voice. "The place to jump them is the over pass. You need to keep the damage to a minimum. We have to be able to create one usable machine from the wreckage, and it would be nice to have spare parts for more machines at home. Think you can do that?"

The humans refer to their tent city as _home. _I decide not to mention this. I look at Atana, and she at me. "I think we can," I speak for her. "How long do we have?"

"If I knew that, the machines wouldn't be winning this war," Augie says. "There's a spike out there...an alarm. It won't give you much time, but you will get some." He leans back and Cathy accelerates slowly ahead.

"Where are you going?" Atana asks. "Are you leaving him with me?"

"I wouldn't worry," Augie says. "Top says Michael can handle these. You're in good hands. Don't key up unless you really need me. You'll just lead them to you, if they aren't there already."

"But where are _you_ going?" she says irately. It almost sounds desperate to me.

"There are four out here, somewhere. I'm leaving you and Michael two of them. Stop complaining." Augie glances at me and throws up a fast salute with a few fingers; not a real salute, but real respect. He winks for a very brief moment, when his eyes are hidden from Atana. I am certain Mars has somehow arranged this, thinking he has done me a favor. At least I can observe her. Augie turns back onto the highway, and with an electric whine he vanishes in the wavering mid day heat in ardent pursuit of Cathy's expertly driven and somewhat overworked moto.

"Now what," Atana asks me in the faint wind. When we are alone, we tend to talk very quietly, when there is no need for increased volume.

"Now we talk about how to capture these."

"Didn't you disable two on the way to the human base? I hear you were quite the hero," she says mockingly.

"I disabled them completely; I destroyed them," I lie. "We need them more intact." I am not about to tell her how Mars's jamming box, or more aptly my _jamming sphere_, works. I may need to use it on her.

"Will we use the machines to report to Skynet?"

I shake my head. "G series machines are too unreliable. They may attempt to terminate us both instead. We will need to find a T. It is more likely a T will find us." I may hate Atana, but that doesn't mean I can afford the luxury of treating her as anything less valuable or less capable than I am.

"So how do we do this?"

I shrug and pull my blanket from a small pack I am wearing. "Do you have yours?"

"No."

That figures. She and I will be huddled in my blanket, hoping that provides good enough camouflage. I look at the bridge. "We need to slow them down to something reasonable. I think that between the two of us we can push some of the overpass onto the road below. Not enough to stop them; they will know instantly it's a trap. Just enough to make them believe slowing down is prudent." Atana nods, and we go about pushing some of the more disconnected chunks from the overpass.

"We could shoot at the processor when they get close," she muses. "That's a low-probability shot on an armored and moving target. It would cause them to crash or jump immediately into engagement. We will need to establish manual control."

"Jump on?" I clarify.

"Yes," she answers. The look on her face says she will enjoy this. She and I have different ideas of what enjoyment is, apparently.

"Get in position, then," I tell her. We climb underneath the ruined overpass, waiting in the shadows, and huddled under my thermal blanket in ridiculous heat for most of a day. Atana is very still and does not speak. I can't even hazard a guess as to what she's thinking. Sitting next to her in the silence is pleasant. I would enjoy it more if she wasn't a polished misanthrope. Finally, near dusk, the machines come into view. After a few kilometers of slowing down, they spread slightly apart to avoid the rubble.

Atana leaps before I am ready, and lands squarely on her machine. The machine reacts instantly; violently. It twists and accelerates, while Atana reaches down with one hand and plucks the uplink module from the G. It is now alone. I am absorbed in jumping onto my own machine. It has been for warned by Atana's leap onto its brother unit, and I almost miss it. I catch it with one leg, and the other scrapes on the ground painfully. I can feel blood soaking into my pant leg as I straighten myself out. My machine twists and turns, and even though I know where the com module is located on the G, I grope for it blindly, unable to reach it for an eternity's worth of seconds. Finally my hands close around the cables and I rip them out. I can tell it didn't communicate with Skynet. I'd have heard it. It did transmit a far weaker signal...one to Atana's machine. It might have been asking for visuals. The forward mounted sensors leave the machine's dorsal area as a potential blind spot. Humans shouldn't be stupid enough to attempt to jump on one.

With the com module disconnected, my machine is deaf. Atana is crouching low, feeling between the gearbox and CPU for the first cable to pull...the speed control. With a metallic ping that I can hear, even over the moan of high-winding motors, the wires pull fee of their harness. Atana leans forward, manually pushing the speed lower until she can reach the brake cables. My machine is traveling at a truly foolish speed now. My groping hands can't find the speed control, and I can't look down. The G still has steering control, and we whip violently from side to side. I yank the speed control free and reach for the brake control module. The machines are drive by wire, but there is a mechanical way to trigger the brakes. At this speed, it is imperative that I do not just passively decelerate. I estimate that we are making at least three kilometers a minute...one hundred eighty an hour. As I finally get the brakes to clamp down moderately I hear a rumble behind me. Bullets tear up the roadway and shoulder to the left of me. The wildly swerving machine actually steers to the right to avoid them.

I actually bless Skynet's work with the G series patrol machines. While not in pursuit, the G series has a very strictly defined self-preservation protocol. Skynet, realizing the comparative delicacy of these machines, has programmed them to be defensively evasive when faced with the chance of destruction. The machines, ultimately computers, require a target to enter pursuit mode. While my machine cannot physically acquire a target to enter into pursuit, Atana's machine can, and that target will be me.

At least I prefer to think that her machine has entered into pursuit mode. I crank harder on the mechanical break control and drop beside her. I want to draw on her, or her Moto. I could try to hit the CPU from a few feet away. With a few bullets through the right box, this machine would cease to pursue anyone. The display might convince Atana that I do not suspect her. That could work. It's all academic, however; I am still trying to wrestle control form the machine. There is still the steering control, machinegun control, and the more mundane task of bringing the speed down from the one hundred fifty kilometers per hour or more we are doing now.

To make matters even worse, Atana is succeeding in disabling the G's control over its own body, piece by piece, and making it look easy. I have a magnificent burn on my arm from something, and I am still struggling with braking controls. At least the machine will not willingly stop abruptly. Its strength and only defense lie in its mobility and speed. Faced with a threat, it will not decelerate. If anything, it will reliably attempt to fight my manual intercession and release the breaks every chance it gets. It does an odd high-speed dance as I manage to slow it down, only to have to release the mechanical brake control for grip on something else and the machine speeds up.

Atana glances over at me. Her black eyes are burning and she is wearing a smirk on her face. She is laying almost flat on the bike with her toes tucked in front of the gearbox, which has stretched her body into a taut position well-suited for absorbing bumps. Her long hair was tied into a tight braid when we started, but the wind is starting to pull it free, and it is starting to flash behind her in the roaring wind like a comet trail of black flames. Perhaps the wind drag will even keep it out of her face. I almost crash staring at her. Her body suit, which was tight to begin with, is stretched beyond reason. Between her mundane but effervescent beauty and her smoldering electrical signature, she appears supernatural.

I manage to rip free the last cables attaching control servos to the front and back wheel. From here on out, the machine will be running front wheel steering only. I kneel over the steering controls and manually up the speed. She is going a great deal faster than is prudent. She glances behind her. I don't want to take my eyes off the road in front of me, but at least the gyroscopic stabilizers for which the machines are named are functional. I chance a tactical glance behind me. Nothing on the road. Atana slows and whips her moto around with an impressive drift of the back wheel. It feels like I've slowed down much more than she did to do the same thing. She gives the machine so much acceleration that the front end lifts off the ground. Because of the gyros, these machines can ride on one wheel for a very long time, almost indefinitely. It's a show, but it does give me the break I need to catch up with her. I pull along-side and she drops the front end of the crippled machine. It is her cue to urge the make-shift motorcycle into a scream. Keeping up with her is frightening. She is laughing. I can hear it blowing back to me, very faintly, over the wind roar. It is the sound of ecstasy. I don't understand what she is doing. Until we get the machines adapted to humans, they are controlled via a tickling hand dance. Acceleration, braking, and steering require us to move our hands all over the machine. As I rocket after Atana, I wonder if the G's-still functional-feel anything remotely resembling fear or hatred.

I estimate that we are again moving in excess of two hundred kilometers per hour. The roadway is not designed for this, and only the still functioning and mostly autonomous stabilization is keeping us on the road. Is Atana going back to terminate the other two humans? I see the exit a kilometer ahead of us, and start to decelerate. Atana pulls in front of me. I don't mind. I don't plan on shooting at her, but the _option _is there. We take the exit as two grayish brown streaks. Atana smoothly accelerates onto the cross road. This was a more important road, and the concrete appears to be more stable. I do not like this. It means that Atana can go faster. I wish there was a speedometer. I can only guess we are almost doing three hundred now. Atana is weaving back and forth lazily, as if she is bored with the road. She stays in front of me. It's not like I am in a hurry to pass her. It takes all my resolve to keep her in range.

Finally, I see a lump in middle of the road. It is Augie and Cathy. They are standing next to a downed G-series. Atana slows down and I ensure that I remain behind her. I reach down and place one finger near the bar that fires the twin guns. As Atana slows more and more, she aligns herself with the humans. They look up at us and gawk appreciably. My finger presses against the bar. I don't want to shoot her, but I will. Maybe just a burst into her moto. She should survive that.

Atana slows appreciably and reaches down towards the guns. I flinch. I would rather kill a dozen Ts than this flesh and blood creation. With only my bare hands. I see her hand move, and yet the guns aren't spitting fire and metal. Finally I see the stands lowering from the bottom. She coasts to a stop and allows the machine to rest on its stand, hopping off before it has completely come to a halt. She is looking down at the downed G as Augie and Cathie sneak peeks at her moto, which is miraculously intact. I come to a stop behind her, but have to hold the moto up and search for the switch that drops the stands. It takes them a moment to come down.

"I see you both made it," Cathy says.

"Did you both make it?" Augie asks conspiratorially. Atana can easily hear him, and she and I both know it.

I slap him on the back lightly. "That's for me to know."


	7. Chapter 7

I am just about to finish with the reconfiguration on the moto that I captured when Mars and Augie show up. Generally, the humans do not manage to capture a G with the processor intact. Industrious humans aren't stopped by a little thing like that...they just use mechanical linkages and a lot of tinkering.

"Getting this going, I see," Mars says casually. I know him too well to be fooled.

"I wasn't so hard. It was very intact."

"Very intact. Don't see that very often." Alarm flags are waving in my head.

"It was Atana's idea." Perhaps I can simply blame it on her.

Mars crouches next to me. "I'm not gonna lie to you Mike. Some people are talking. Not many, but very important ones."

"Because I captured a moto?"

"Because you captured two, without really damaging them or yourself."

"They did damage me." I tap my thigh, then pull up my sleeve to show the burn. It has healed a remarkable about but it still looks bad and no one ever really know how severe it was to start with. I look at Augie. I don't know whether he is there to help detain me, offer support, or question me. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," Augie replies. "Other folks have been asking me hard questions though. It sure would be nice if I had something to tell them."

"Like what?" I look from Mars to Augie.

"The truth, son. Just the truth."

"You already know the truth!" I look at Mars. "I assumed you told him everything." I straighten up. I am trying my best to look hurt. If I fail at this mission, the humans will certainly die as Skynet affects its contingency plan, which will most likely involve quite a bit of fire and heavy weaponry. It will also spell my doom. "Tell me what you need to know," I say. "Tell me what I need to say."

"How? Explain that, and at least I'll have something to say when people ask." I have told them both how Atana and I captured the Gs exhaustively. With a hum and the hiss of regenerative brakes, Atana rolls to a stop between us. I am actually relieved to see her.

"Blame her," I say, pointing at Atana. She looks at me, confused. She looks momentarily worried. "She was the crazy one who jumped onto the moto. I was just following her. You can tell I didn't do it as well as her." I wave my arm in front of them.

"What is this?" Atana asks.

"Honestly, we are a little concerned about how easily you seemed to capture the motos intact," Augie says.

"Are _you _concerned?" She looks at Mars.

"Concerned? No." Mars pauses. "I'll admit I'm curious."

"So you seem to think it was easy?" she stares at Augie. He is far to brave to flinch under her gaze. It is still quite a gaze. "I notice you and Cathy had to shoot yours. You seemed to think leaving us alone with two of them was ok. You didn't even tell us how you did it. We had to improvise."

"Miss Atan-" Augie reaches out. It is a mistake. Unlike our metal half-brothers, an HR's strength does rely on its muscle mass. Assuming Atana and I share our efficiently equally, I am much stronger than her. She is still stronger than all of the humans. She is also much faster, and she brushes Augie's hand casually away.

"No! You want me to apologize for being lucky, or good, or both. _Screw_ that! I jumped on the back of a moving machine!" She looks at me. "_He_ almost got killed. If you think it's too easy, get your can out there and do it yourself! Just don't expect me to reprogram them or _him_ to kill himself trying to save you!" With a display of anger, Atana has moved the humans from skeptical to defensive. Masterful. I wish our roles were reversed, and it was her defying Skynet. She could offer the humans much more than me. I'm certain that she would be prudent enough to kill me, if our roles _were_ reversed. I'm too human. My irrationality is impacting my abilities.

"Please, Atana," Mars says calmly; almost gently. "No one's accusing you of anything. I'm sorry if it sounds that way." Mars chuckles. He wraps an enormous arm around my shoulders, pulling me aside, where he whispers into my ear. "If you do amazing things too often, people will start to ask questions. It's only human." I nod slowly. Atana watches from atop her moto.

Mars nudges Augie, who has dropped into a brooding silence, and the two men walk around Atana's bike, looking at the modifications she has made. Atana has forgone the normal handlebars and put two grips down low. Four simple finger-sized analog slider-switches are mounted side by side at her left hand, and four more are on her right. I don't know what they all do...speed, brakes, and steering. Maybe the fourth runs the guns. Atana is still kneeled over, resting on her machine, gazing at my moto. I wonder if they are staring at her the way I am.

"Is this done?" she asks at last. I remember to look at her face after too long a pause; her black eyes are boring into me. I feel something. Maybe it is guilt. "_Are_ you done?" I hear a noise behind me. Probably the humans laughing at me.

"I just finished."

"Have you tested it?"

"Not yet."

"Well, do you want to let Mister Zimmer test it? You need to see how I've set this up."

"Is there a reason that can't wait?" I glance at Mars and Augie. Mars is watching with some amusement. Augie is still mad about the verbal scourging. I have been riding with him for almost a month; I know him well enough to know that he doesn't carry grudges. That's a good thing. We can't trust him to not scrutinize us, but we can trust him to give everything else the same attention he will give us.

"I want you to know to control it in case I can't, for some reason," Atana says.

"Then are you going to learn how to run this one?"

"Leave that to whoever gets it."

"Excuse me?"

"Get on. That's someone else's now."

"No!" I tell her. Anger worked for her. I figure it's worth a try. It doesn't work. She casually reaches out and pushes me towards the moto with the back of her hand. Mars is laughing. He is a Jackass.

"Get on, boy wonder." Now I'm the sidekick. She has grasped memes much better than I. She also looks better in a body suit. I am starting to wonder if there is anything I do better? I look at the moto more carefully, searching for foot-pegs and handgrips. I can't identify how I am supposed to ride comfortably. The pegs for my feet are almost directly under where I should sit...great for absorbing shock, not so great for long rides. The hand grips are too far forward; I will end up being pulled too far forward. I can't see a way to avoid pushing Atana off the bike. I gingerly rest my boots on the pegs.

This is not going to work. The grips for me are just behind and above her calves. To reach them I am going to have to lean into her. She reaches down and operates the stands, while starting to ramp up speed, and I have no choice but to lean into her. We start to move slowly. Mars is still laughing at me.

"We have to talk about this," I say in her ear. She ignores me and pushes a slider forward with one finger. The moto seems to leap to attention. It stands up straight as it smoothly accelerates. After a requisite period of turning, braking, starting, and stopping, and more speed, she coasts to a roll and balances the moto as the stands drop. I step off and she straightens up.

"There is no reason we have to double up," I yell to Atana. She is fooling with her hair with one hand, which has stayed tied this time. That pleases me. I don't need a face full of her hair to make my day complete.

"Did you know that the humans suspect we have a romantic relationship?" she asks off-handedly, not quite shouting over the wind.

"That doesn't make it a fact."

"Regardless; It is what they believe. It would be optimal for true infiltration."

"I am not going to even respond to that."

"You don't have to; they already suspect it's true," she insists. I do not like where this is headed.

" We can correct them."

"I'm not going to," she says petulantly. I stare down at the back of her head. It is a lost cause. I know she will not change her mind. I momentarily have and internal struggle with the opposing viewpoints...one that wishes to continue to argue, one that knows it will be a waste of time. Both end the same way.

"Would you care to tell me what has made this concept so important?" I shout finally. I look down at the moto. "And why one moto for both of us?"

"The time is right. Robots don't have romantic relationships." I start to object again and she interrupts me. "Stop arguing. You know it's for the best."

"There are plenty of human men who would take my place." Normal humans couldn't even attempt to have a conversation on the back of a rocketing moto.

"I'm out of their league. Mates complement each other. You are the only male who approaches what I would desire in a mate." I think that will be as close as she will ever come to a complement. It is also her reminding me that we are not human. Somewhere deep inside I can empathize with her. There are certainly some fine humans...suitable mates for anyone. Anyone but me. And Atana, apparently.

"And my G?"

"You may have noticed that more humans are arriving daily. It is only a matter of time until we both have passengers. You wish to put a human in jeopardy?" Atana is taunting me. I must not rise to the challenge.

"You know our mission," I deflect.

"You know what we are," she answers back

"Preserving the lives of the humans makes sense," I say. "Preserving their lives earns us their loyalty."

Atana taps the moto. "Apparently not." I have no answer.

"The geometry on this is foolish," I say, tugging on a passenger hand grip. I tug on the passenger hand grips. Atana responds to the pressure on her back.

"You only need to use those if I'm riding hard."

"I have to lean into you to stay on."

"And you don't enjoy it? You are afraid I'll attack? _You're_ the one whose hands are free. I need a passenger who can act while I control the moto. Do you have a problem with my logic?" It's not her logic I find problematic. It's my ability to focus properly with her pressed against me that concerns me. She probably took that into account, if she doesn't trust me.

"I-" The radio cuts me off.

"-sector B3. At least one T. Heavily armed. Moving southeast. We are taking intermittent fire. I think we can hole up."

Atana and I both turn to the moto. Ten seconds later, we are rolling down the road. The way Atana rides, the handles are a boon. Sector B3 is at least thirty kilometers from where we are now. We may be able to intermittently manage one twenty on these roads.

"Why are we in such a hurry?" I yell. Even with very good ears, hearing on this road is a struggle.

"I thought you were the one who wanted to save the humans."

I wince. "Why do you care?"

"Maybe I want to impress you. Would it be easier to pretend you have a romantic interest in me if I do something with which you agree?"

"How do you fake it?" I ask her. She doesn't answer.

We are unable to do more than a hundred most of the way there. The humans will engage the robot, without question. These humans are irascibly brave. As we approach, there is debris on the roadway. It is the remains of a converted G. Scouts generally ride out one per moto, instead of doubled up. Somewhere, there is another G. Atana halts our moto and we examine the wreckage. The front-end is ripped from the frame. Bits of flesh line the roadway, and Atana creeps forward through the carnage. Bits of flesh line the roadway, and ahead of this, a red and white lump lies on the yellow line.

Morgan, which is what the pile of human on the ground was named when he walked among us, is hardly recognizable. I lean over the bike and straighten the remains out. A large section of his ribcage has been torn out. His gun is lying flattened on the ground. I walk back to the moto and force the side plate covering the power supply to the side. I remove the power supply. Half charged. Better than nothing. I walk back to the human remains. Morgan's jacket is more or less intact. I search the pockets until I find a small plastic package. It is drenched in his blood, and I shake it, splattering Morgan's blood on the concrete and both of our boots.

"What is that?" Atana is watching me carefully.

"It is a letter to his family." She says nothing. I place the letter in a pocket. "We need to find the T." Atana nods. She scans the rocky road sides. I look further, onto the foothills. I see nothing. I can see faint traces of blood...the trail of spatter leads into the foothills. I follow that trail into the dusty wilderness. Atana is walking behind me. By the time it gets dark, the trail is almost gone, and I am tracking more as a craft than a science. I can hear something to my left, and the trail-or what there is of it-goes forward. I consider my options only briefly, then move to the left. I can see as well as the machine in the dark, and somewhere out here is another human.

As we crest a hill, we find another moto, lying on its side behind a rock. It is covered with a torn thermal blanket. Next to it, a human is struggling to breathe. It is Andrew Baske, Aaron's older brother. He shares his brother's build, but he is a brave and sensible man. Aaron will need a serious impetus to match his brother's essence...his soul. Andrew is alive, though he has been shot several times through the stomach. He is holding a Walther in one hand. I lean close to his head, in case he is trying to say something. I don't think he is. He seems delirious. A noise below warns me that there is something below. Atana is standing behind me with a drawn pistol. It is a .45, like mine, though superficially dissimilar. I rise just in time to see a silver streak shoot over the rocks that conceal the downed moto.

The T sees the three of us, and without pause heads towards the downed Andrew. Atana raises her pistol, but I push her hand away. Somewhere in Andrew's head something warns him that the machine has found him. He raises his gun, but before he can fire, the machine stomps on his neck. It almost severs his head from the body, and he fires mindlessly into the air. The bullet passes through my ribcage. I cannot smell anything unusual in the blood, and it is not discolored. I drop back and clutch my upper abdomen. Atana immediately presses on the exit wound, and the machine simply stands at rest. Even though I see night differently from most humans, its eyes glow in the dark. I kneel by Andrew's downed moto and take the thermal blanket, ripping it into very long strips. I would use his jacket, or even mine, but I need to wrap these strips around me and tie them tightly; I can still bleed to death if I take this damage to casually. When I am done wrapping my wounds, I try to take a deep breath. It hurts quite a bit. Atana is standing behind me, staring at the T. The look on her face is not what I expected. I cannot place it.

"Report, T-800."

"HR1; state your designation." The machine wheels on Atana, who has moved behind me and to the left. Atana has never reported to Skynet?

"Atana," she says. Based on her biometrics, she is nervous. I am only moderately surprised. I was nervous with the last T.

The machine regards us silently. It is eerie. It is difficult to tell which one of us it is staring at.

"Integration status?" it asks, in its emotionless voice.

"Integration proceeding unremarkably," I tell it. It stares at us for a few seconds long. What does it want?

"You are proficient with data retrieval." It is not really a question. It must be speaking to Atana. I'm sure I could figure something out, but she has a reputation.

"I am," she agrees, answering the non-question.

"You are to lead the humans to the designated location."

"Designated where?" Atana asks. The machine sets its gun down.

"Remain at range until all batch processes are complete."

"What is it...?" Atana starts. I silence her with a hand on her shoulder. My blood leaves a trace on her pale skin. The machine's eyes fade gradually, and even with no light in its eyes it reaches underneath its metal jaw and tears its head from its neck.

It doesn't fall to the ground...a headless machine still possesses most of the autonomous controls that keep balance and limb tension. The head does drop from its derelict hands and roll to our feet. I wait for a few moments, then pull the machine onto the ground. I remove the power core and I cover the headless chassis with the blanket and cover the blanket with sand, and then lift Andrew's moto to an upright position. I put down the stands and gather up his corpse.

"What are you doing?" Atana asks.

"I'm taking him back to his family."

"He's deceased." She is holding the glimmering skull and watching me struggle onto the moto with Andrew's body. "You're wounded. You are on a strange vehicle that surely requires two hands to operate. Give me the corpse."

"I'm taking him back!" I should not have lost my temper. It is exactly a situation such as this that will tell her which way my allegiances lay.

"I will take him back," she replies quietly. At times like this, I can forget that she is the most dangerous creation the humans have ever faced. I have to remind myself. She gingerly takes the nearly decapitated Andrew, the braver half of the Baske brothers.

Bravery has its own rewards.


	8. Chapter 8

I have to force Atana to stop pawing me. Her concern is reasonable; a punctured hollow organ or pass through something important would defiantly tax me. Through pure luck an HR's stomach is somewhat smaller than the average human's. It is not abnormal, but it means that the bullet-most likely a full metal jacket...the hollow points don't do much against machines-probably passed above and to the right of it without rupturing my spleen. At least I don't believe my spleen was damaged; the amount of bleeding is relatively reasonable, for a gunshot wound. The exit wound is certainly far enough away from my kidney to be certain it escaped unscathed. I'm left speculating on wound channel specifics based on the scent, the color, and amount of the blood. I flex various muscles and probe the area near the wound. Ventral or Dorsal nerve damage do not seem likely, but I do suspect a fractured rib or two. Probably nothing shattered. I turn my attention to Andrew's moto. I really don't want to ride back with another human...in actuality it is easier to stay on a moto as a controller. They are not built for any riders, but an incapacitated spare rider genuinely stretches their limits.

Andrew's moto is certainly rougher than mine. I examine it while Atana is gone. Given that I am leaking blood, I get to rest for several minutes as Atana leaves Andrew's body by the t's metal corpse, runs to her moto, and rides it back to the body and downed machine. She makes it back to me before the humans responding to the original call for help meet us. Most of the humans have installed lights on their rides. Atana even has one, though if she really needed it, that one would be far too weak for the speeds at which she travels. I am certain she wouldn't even have turned it on if the humans weren't there, and as soon as she outpaces them, she is going to turn it off. Even carrying a body, she disappears into the darkness.

It takes me almost twice as long to get back as it did to make it out. Atana meets me as we are coming back. She has apparently made it home, deposited the body and section one of the robot, and returned. She doesn't stop her machine or mine, but instead loops around me and follows us back in. When I get back to the tent city Augie has jokingly referred to as "The Latest Show on Earth," she makes a show of helping me off the moto. I'm hurt, but not that hurt. What I really need is a week of rest. There are medical personnel among the humans, and they insist on examining the wound. Fortunately, riding the moto has jostled me enough to keep the wound generally open. The doctors make a big ordeal about cleaning and dressing the wound. I suppose it is their attempt to help somebody tonight. Mars meets me at the edge of the large tent being used as an infirmary.

"We'll talk tomorrow. When the adrenaline has worn off it's going to hurt worse."

I nod and return to my tent. Atana is there. "Are you...functional?" she asks.

"Yes," I say. I am not sure what more to say. We share an awkward silence.

"I returned the body. Would you like me to give Morgan's wife the note?"

I pull the gore-covered parcel from my pocket. The blood has dried and the package is formed into a slim square. I hand it to Atana. She may be reacting to my outburst. She may have discovered a hidden reserve of humanity. Whatever the reason, I am glad she is leaving my tent. She is at her most irresistible when she is acting like a human.

I actually sleep longer than I intend to. By the time I awake the next day, Atana has gone with Augie and Cathy, to recover Morgan's remains. They have taken a sport wagon. It will take much longer for them to get to the ambush point and back. The few humans who see me emerge from the tent point and whisper. Cody is waiting for me outside my tent.

"Is it true you got shot?" The boy is simply too young to have a fully developed sense of decency.

"Leave him alone, you goon!" Mary is glaring balefully at Cody. They are both superior humans and they enjoy a finely balanced antagonistic relationship. I suspect it will develop into more, if they both survive long enough, and manage to stay together. "You don't ask him something like that!"

"Why not?" Cody insists.

I look around. "It's okay Cody. No one else is here. You should only ask how I am if we're alone, and if I'm hurt less than other people. Otherwise it looks as if you don't care for them."

"But you're shot!"

"And Mr. Whithers and Mr. Baske died!" Mary says.

"I'm sorry," Cody says. He falls into silence. Finally I lift my shirt to show him the patch with its tiny splotch of blood. Cody stares at the bandage. Mary stares too, though she tries to avoid it.

Finally she speaks in a tiny voice. "Does it hurt? Did it hurt?"

"Of course not!" Cody tells her. He views me as a role model. He has idolized me.

I consider it. "It burned. Then it was numb. Today it hurts, though."

"I'm glad you and Miss Atana made it back," Mary tells me. She is actually one of the closest things I have to a real human family. She moves to hug me, and then thinks better of it.

"I bet you got hurt protecting Ms. Atana," Cody says. Mary nods. Cody has set me to thinking. I feel a faint irrational urge to protect Atana, even though she doesn't need it, and she would most certainly not reciprocate it. It is Skynet's programming functioning as intended. I am slowly becoming more human in my thought patterns. Domesticated, as it were.

Mars steps around the corner. "You kids run along now. Mr. March Needs to rest." He puts his hands on daughter's shoulders, turns her around, and gives her a good-natured shove. Cody follows her.

Mars turns to me. "How's your gut?"

I wasn't shot in the gut. He is approximating. "It was better yesterday morning," I tell him.

He laughs. "I bet. If you feel like getting out for a while, why don't you come with me? We need to debrief you as soon as possible." This is not good. I thought about my story last night, but I didn't have a chance to share the story with Atana. I have to think of a way to get it to her. I follow Mars into the command vehicle. Several humans more important than he is are already there waiting for us.

"Have a seat, Mike," Mars waves at a chair. "Why don't you tell us what happened yesterday."

I tell him all about how Atana and I were out testing her moto when a distress call came in. I tell them about how Atana sped toward sector B3 as fast as she could, only to find Morgan already dead. I tell them that we searched for the machine, and before we found Andrew we found his moto. I tell them I took Andrew's moto and Atana took her own, and when we saw the machine, we each threw a line around the T and drove opposite directions. I tell him that I am not sure when I was shot...that I didn't know I was even bleeding until the machine was destroyed. They seem to believe it. The far greater problem is how I'm going to get this story to Atana.

"We are going to be moving today," A tall man named Vincent says. I don't know if Vincent is his first or last name; he has not deigned to speak with me before now. He is one of the most important humans in the camp. "Why don't you pack up what you can? We can round up some help for the rest. Maybe your lady friend can help when she gets back." I don't even correct him.

I nod. "Can I rest a few hours first?"

"Of course, son," Mars whispers, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and leading me out of the command vehicle. "When we move out, you might need to ride in here or a car. I don't know if want to see if you can ride with a hole through you, and no adrenaline keeping you on." He squeezes my shoulder and then leaves for the men and women who are more important than he is.

I go back to Atana's tent and search it for the T's head. I want to see if I can find the data to which the machine referred last night. Atana has the equipment I need to retrieve the data, but I also have a lot to think about. Perhaps being distracted is what I need to sub-consciously formulate a solution to one or more of my current problems. Disassembling the head is more of an exercise in patience and futility than a skill. When I finally do get the interior exposed, I see how outclassed I am. I was hoping that I could fumble my way through data retrieval. That still may be possible, but it will certainly take me longer than the few moments I have. I don't even recognize some of these components.

I begin to move the components back into the skull when I find a part I recognize. I set the transmitter aside. I pull her console equipment to me and examine it. I think I can perform a microburst transmission. I spend a few minutes composing the details of the story I gave the humans. Before I transmit it, I consider the relative positives and negatives. If I am observed, or if I fail to give my fellow HR the details, I will draw attention on myself and one or both of us will be killed.

It is a risk I have to take. The results of my inaction will be-at the very least-increased scrutiny for both of us. The results of my treachery will be possible increased scrutiny. I decrease the radio's power and activate the test function on the console. In my head, I hear a test pattern. It is, however, only identifiable because I know what it is. This will not work. I can broadcast a high-speed signal, but not a microburst; the multiplexing overlaps too many spectrums to be usable for our meager abilities. I recompose the short message from the point of view of the machine. I give it details; more than I gave Mars and his acquaintances. I add a few more details regarding Morgan's death. I halt the narrative at us converging on the T.

I close my eyes, and hit the send button. I exit the tent, and search for Mars. I finally find him, though it takes me a while.

"What's up, Mike?

"I think I accidently triggered some sort of broadcast."

"Is that so?" He stops walking and I feel very nervous.

"I was examining the machine's head...I was trying to retrieve its data like Atana can, and I think I might have brushed something wrong."

"So the Eye in the sky knows we're here? I'm disappointed in you Michael." I look down. He would only use my full name if he truly was disappointed.

"I don't think it was a powerful signal," I say. "It was operating on residual power."

"Do you know what it was?" Mars asks me, clenching his jaw.

"No idea," I pause. "I only have the radio you gave me. It didn't come across that. Is there something that will pick it up in the land whale?" I use the ever-colorful Augie's term. It is more human.

"Probably. It will be spooled too. I'm sure I'll hear about it if it's worth knowing; we'll just have to wait. Some of our patrols have radios that might have been able to intercept it as well." I feel bad. I have specifically taken advantage of his trust in me. Granted, that is what we are designed to do, but usually it's on a non-personal level.

Atana returns later that day, and is led directly from her vehicle to the command and control center. She returns an hour later. I have packed almost all my gear and most of hers as well. I leave some of the bigger pieces, not because I need the help, but to pack them may attract unwanted attention. She meets with me after they have released her.

"I take It you were interrogated as well?" she asks me.

"Debriefing is not interrogating."

"It was an interrogation."

"And?"

She stares at me. "Did you activate the terminator's radio?"

"I might have."

"It appears that the terminator queued a report that it never sent to Skynet."

"Curious," I say.

"The machine created a very interesting story about how it was destroyed," she says. She is speaking in a sweet, sing-songy voice.

"Well, if that's what Skynet understands to be the truth, we have to accept it. Skynet's children do not lie to it."

"No," she replies. "I suppose not. I had little alternative but to tell them the same story."

"I imagine they were relieved that your story matches the report."

"They were also relieved to know that I had no access to a radio."

I look at the bag in the corner that holds her console. The machine' head is sitting next to it. "Did they ask you for forensics?" It occurs to me that she has been packing with me instead of doing that.

"I told them that I would do it on the carrier as we migrate." That will put her on the land whale with me the whole trip. We manage to pack up the rest of our belongings, and then help the other humans. Atana brings her moto around the back of the carrier. With a burst she rides it up the ramp and stops gracefully as humans scatter. A cot has been assembled for my use, and it actually feels nice to simply lie down and rest. I won't for long, however. I want to observe and learn.

Vincent _something_-or _something_ Vincent-is sitting with us. Spying without spying. He isn't going to learn much now. Atana's work is generally waiting for the console to do its job. She examines the T's components as she carefully removes them.

"It looks like someone created a nice arc in her." She glares at me. "Monkey fingers. You're lucky that it didn't have a lot of power in some of those capacitors." She works for a while longer. It's obvious that Vincent is growing bored. I'm enjoying the ride. After a few hours of watching Atana work, I return to my cot.

"What's taking so long? Aren't you supposed to be good?"

Atana glares at me. "Information in its long-term storage on mobile units is highly encrypted. Even with machines based on Skynet's processors it will take some time to crack."

"How much time?" I ask her.

"If we're lucky? Months."

"And if we aren't?" I ask. Of course I know the answer, but a little part of me is irate. Skynet would only pass un-retrievable information to us if it was toying with us.

"Never."

I think about this for a moment as she works. "You're too smart for your own good," I tell her at last.

"What?" She stares at me. I am lying back with my eyes closed, but I can still feel it.

"What are you assuming?" I am enjoying this.

"Nothing. I'm not assuming anything."

As I relax with my eyes closed, I see a flowchart of data pathing. After at least ten more minutes she breaks down and asks me.

"What am I assuming?" She asks.

"Who's saying the only data we need is in long-term memory? What about buffers, queues, and caches?"

She pauses. "I hate you." She continues to work at the console, though I can tell that now, things are happening. After a while, she prints a short stack of paper.

"This was in the broadcast cache." She hands the stack to Vincent, who glances at them, yawns and stretches. After a moment he stands.

"This is what I was waiting for. I should probably let you get some rest." He taps the stack of papers to even them, and then backs towards the exit to the cab. Vincent is a poor actor. I look at Atana. She has moved to the dimmer switches and turned down the lights in the back.

"Did-" Atana shocks me by kissing me roughly, and squeezing my hand hard enough to break a finger. I would suspect a genuine attempt at establishing a romantic relationship if she wasn't biting both my lips, sealing my mouth shut. It is my understanding that normal humans do not kiss that way. Of course, Atana is no normal human. Maybe she enjoys it. She releases her deathgrip on my hand and squeezes softly. Then she brushes her thumb across my palm. She is staring at me from inches away. I can feel her breath on my face.

She is using my hand to pass me a message in Morse code. It takes a very long time. She talks quietly as she does, though it is much louder than either one of us require.

"How is your new hole?" she whispers, brushing my abdomen.

"Luckily, it doesn't seem to be in anything grossly important." I momentarily wish she was injured, so I could brush her body. "Are you sure you aren't injured?"

"Oh, you only wish, Michael March." She kisses me again; just possibly for real this time. At least she isn't biting my lips. All through this exchange she is squeezing slowly or brushing casually. It takes more than a minute to spell out what's really on her mind. N-A-D-Z-O-R. She suspects that we are being observed. Time to put on the camera face.

"Poor Mikey," Atana runs her hand down my face. I shiver. It's not just for show.

"I know. I suffer and they think I'm a human robot."

"Or a spy."

"Or a spy. They'd better be giving me something seriously good for exterminating my entire race. That's all I know."

"Just keep me in mind. Maybe we can rebuild the human race." I have a feeling she is still holding on to this idea for real.

"I'm guessing that if we were spies, and Skynet's whole goal was to exterminate us, it wouldn't let us breed. Even if we wanted to." I run my fingers up her arms. It is so dangerous for me I have to stop, even before she yells at me or hurts me. I redirect instead. "So, what was in the cache?"

"Well, last in, first out. There were two usable pieces of data in the transmit queue. First thing was a report about how we destroyed it."

"I may have triggered the radio when I was trying to do retrieval. If it was in there does that mean I didn't broadcast it?"

"I have no idea. Most likely you sent something else, if you sent anything. It might mean that it didn't fully broadcast, or that it didn't send at full power. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Well, I already know that story anyway," I say. She managed to write the whole report from memory; I hope for both of us that her memory is as good as we need it to be. "What was the second bit?"

"It was a scouting report about an area northwest of here. Apparently, it is an electromagnetic deadzone; radio signals just die after an inordinately short time. The machine was actually concerned." I pause.

"Concerned?"

"Well, yes. I mean, all of Skynet's real lifting is done remotely. This is an area where it is effectively blind."

"So are we." I almost say _the humans_.

"_We_ can string cable."

"If it's that much of a deadzone it may attenuate any cable into garbage. Why is it a deadzone?"

"The machine didn't know. It took soil samples for analysis. It did note that its navigation was compromised there. Whatever it was, if nothing else, we can run fiber."

"Where will we get fiber?"

"Do you know how much is in this vehicle? Besides, I bet they have more stashed somewhere."

"So...we will be standing in Skynet's blind spot."

"Literally. It will hurt us a little, but there is absolutely no reason that, as the stationary force, we can't run the wire or fiber and negate the effect on us. The machines will have to worry...they will be without communication, navigation, and possibly some sensors. It would be stupid not to scout it, at the very least." I whistle softly. If the humans are watching, and I am certain they are, there will be no doubt where we are going next.


	9. Chapter 9

Predictably, the dead zone is the topic of conversation in the Land Whale later that night. Atana and I are allowed to stay this time. Colonel Vincent-I have learned that is his last name, but it is how he prefers to be addressed-invites us. We might finally be accepted as trustworthy members of this tribe of humans. Mars and his wife both appear, and he greets me warmly. Augie is not with us, but he seems to be something of a regulator for this band of humans. His place will be among them.

"We now have new information courtesy of our dynamic duo," Mars says, nodding at me and Atana and tapping a handful of papers. I am certain that reference comes from Atana's remark to me regarding my unwillingness to ride with her. Some of the humans snicker, but I believe they generally hold me in admiration. A bullet hole from a machine equates to instant respect. Probably foolish, but true. I don't believe that Atana has ever been as much of a suspect as I have, which is simply absurd, considering the punishment my body has taken in the name of the humans. She simply outclasses me when it comes to garnering human empathy, and I don't know how.

Mars hands the papers to Vincent, who looks us over. "The machine that murdered Morgan and Andrew was carrying scouting information of a very curious nature." _Murder_ isn't the most appropriate term. The humans and robots are at war, and both men were combatants. Skynet wouldn't have made a distinction, but that doesn't make it any less true. "Apparently this machine has discovered a unique area in the former pacific northwest." He points to a map on a monitor. We all look at the non-descript shape on the map. "You are seeing an area of approximately forty-seven square kilometers. The area is typical of local ecology. As you can see, there is water. This is the Cascade Mountain Range, which means there may be volcanic activity. We don't have good enough intel on how this area was altered by judgment day, and our scout didn't elaborate on some things. I can tell you that this does not match any known topographical maps we have of the vicinity." Vincent goes on to describe the area in grueling military fashion. It bores me, and I'm even interested. Finally another man, Captain Engle, coughs politely. Vincent pauses and glares at Captain Engle. "The important thing is to find out why Skynet was concerned about this area. This area has an electromagnetic fault of some type; radio waves will not travel within the marked area," Vincent pauses. Most of the humans here with us are intelligent enough to realize what this means.

"We have to see it," Mars says at last. "It could change things. With a place Skynet can't sense us we could stop moving. I hardly remember what it feels like to stop moving."

"We also make ourselves targets," Atana remarks. Obligatory objection. She is being the Devil's advocate.

"At least see it," Mars repeats. The other men and women nod. Someone has to be wondering if it's a trap; but no one is mentioning it. By mutual consensus, we walk directly into Skynet's waiting arms.

The trek to Skynet's radio dead zone takes almost a week in the Land Whale. I use the time to work on the boogeyman alarms, and when I am good enough to ride, I move back out to riding with Atana on the moto. It is an alarm of sorts to me; a warning to me that I am shockingly fragile. What I first dismissed as little more than a nuisance has instead forced me spend what is to me an unacceptable about recuperating. I spend the time pondering my mortality and what it would mean to the humans. I am no good to them dead. Atana is quiet. I understand. I am quiet as well, only in my case it is because I am trying to rescue the human race. She's leading them to into oblivion.

A few days out, Vincent sends Atana and Augie to scout the area. I am commanded to stay at base camp-home-to maintain order. I may find this more difficult, or I may not. I do not have Augie's rank...a corporal in the United States Marine Corps. It earns him respect among the humans. Likewise, I have developed a reputation as a machine killer. I will learn over the next few days what that's worth. It's a day before Mary finds me.

"I want to report a kidnapping."

"Kidnapping?" Kidnapping is a barter crime. The only reason to do the extra work of keeping something or someone alive is that it may be valuable to a specific party. I decide to humor her. "Who has been kidnapped?"

"Cody." Indeed.

"Do you know who might have kidnapped him?" She shook her head. Her long waxen ringlets swung in her face. "So why do you think he's been kidnapped?"

"He's gone! He'd never disappear without telling me!" She is over-exaggerating her importance. Typical adolescent behavior.

"Well, who have you asked?"

"Jay is on patrol, and my mom sister and Aaron and everyone I could think of!" Jay is his uncle.

"Your dad didn't know?" Mars is the perfect First Sergeant. He knows everything about everyone in the Latest Show on Earth. It's uncanny at times. He always seems to know more than me, and I've tried to get ahead of him.

"I can't get to daddy. He's in the truck."

I am walking with her as we talk, and I subtly guide us towards the land whale. When we are there I knock on the back door and stick my head into the command center. Mars is there. I talk with him about Cody and the scouting mission. After a minute or so I return to Mary.

"He went with Miss Atana and Corporal Zimmer." The humans, especially the children, refer to her as _Miss_ Atana. Mistress? Perhaps. Most certainly of the great pain variety.

"That's _dangerous!_" Mary says, peevishly.

"That is the point," I tell her. "You dad wanted him to get used to working with the grown-ups here."

"But _why_?"

"To give him a chance to learn how to be part of a machine." I should not have answered in that way. I consider my error.

"We're trying to kill the machines, not be part of them!" She knows better. She is merely being petulant. I decide to change my tactics for dealing with her.

"If anyone can teach him how to keep you safe, it's Corporal Zimmer and Atana. You know if you were in trouble he'd come to help. Don't you want him to live through it?"

"That's not fair," she says. "Don't be dramatic."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"Well, don't be surprised if I follow you around, then." I know Mary well enough to know that she does not make idle threats, and that as long as we don't have any trouble, her following me around won't be that bad.

The next few days are actually pleasant. I am forced to wonder if Skynet has cleared the road ahead of our advance, to better ensure that we conform to its expectations. Gs are a threat, but we have enough organization to avoid them, provided we have enough warning. They simply need to be avoided, or in the absence of that possibility, disabled before radio contact. I suspect the contact would be dealt with accordingly by Skynet, but as a matter of practice it is the smart move.

Mary does follow me around for the entire two days, becoming edgier as each moment passes. Finally Atana, Augie, and Cody return. I see them arrive long before any of them speak with me. Augie will ensure that they debrief immediately.

It is almost two hours before I see them again. In that time, Mary becomes even more agitated. Her concern for Cody is not healthy.

"Did you miss me?" Cody asked. The way he carries himself tells me that he has some new reserve of confidence. Mary runs up to him, but pauses before she reaches him. She is at least developed enough to find it awkward.

"What did you learn?" I ask him. He has always been a receptive student.

"Miss Atana taught me how to ride a moto! Corporal Zimmer taught me how to kill them but Miss Atana said that was a waste. She showed me how to jump on them."

"What a ridiculous idea!" Mary shouts. I agree. Our mental capabilities are prodigious but not beyond human range. Our physical abilities, other than our olfactory capabilities, are not even remotely close to being human. Jumping onto a moving G will certainly tax human physiology. I look at Mary.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course!" Normally I would not trust a child to keep anything a secret. Mary is a special case.

I turn to Cody. "What did you find?"

Cody looks around conspiratorially. "First Sergeant Marshall said we aren't to talk about it."

He feels like an adult now after two days on the road with Augie, a definite grownup, and Atana, who at least _looks_ like one. "What you three went up to see...I was there when Atana dug it out of that machine's head. All I want to know is if it's true."

Cody looks at us both, and then nods slowly. "Do you know why?"

"No one does. The machines suspected soil conditions. How well do the radios work?"

"They don't at all, unless you're super close. Miss Atana ran a long wire though, and we could talk on that. She was happy about that." I suppose she was. That indicates no attenuation, or at least not enough to block communication.

"How many patrols did you run into?" I ask him.

Now Cody looks disgusted and ashamed. "Ten, but most of the time they made me hide!"

"That is the smart thing to do," I tell him.

"If you're a coward."

"What would Skynet do if ten of its machines disappeared?" Cody doesn't answer. "Do you suppose it would have guessed this is where we were and sent something really, really bad? You said yourself the motos were really easy to kill...what about the big machines...the HK's?" Cody doesn't want to talk about it.

"I'm glad you hid," Mary says. Cody blushes, but does not say anything else.

"I'm glad, too," says a voice from behind us. Atana is sneaky.

"I heard your mission was a success," I tell her.

"Our information was correct." She looks directly at me. "It has cemented our value in the eyes of the powers that be." She looks to my abdomen. "How is your wound?"

"Healing quickly." I heal much faster than the average human.

She nods and looks at the children. "Can Mr. March and I talk for a while?"

Cody looks at Mary, who is laughing impishly. "It has been two whole days," he laughs.

I ignore him and walk with Atana to her tent. I have set it up, and have been sleeping there. I figured I would set up my own when she came back. Hers is nicer anyway.

"Let me see," She points at my wound. I carefully pull the shirt up. I have been redressing the wound myself. She rips the swath of gauze off my damaged skin without a thought for my comfort. After inspecting the wound for a moment, she jabs it with her thumb. Blood immediately wells around the edges, and I wince. She is not satisfied. She digs more into the puncture, widening the hole. I struggle with her hand, finally getting her to release me.

"What are you doing?"

"Go get that dressed by a medic. Make sure they see that you still have it."

I understand now what she was after. "You didn't need to be so rough," I tell her. The tent is low, and I am sitting directly on the ground. She is kneeling at my side.

"You know better. I did need to. The last thing we need when we are this close is for you to get us caught with something stupid like that. Where's your tent?"

"I have to assemble it. It will be more painful now."

"Don't bother. The humans assume we are romantically entwined. Assembling your own tent will dispel that." I slump back. I lust after Atana, but not enough to actually enter into a physical relationship with her. "Get your wound dressed." She leaves the tent.

I wonder if human women are this difficult.

When I return with freshly human-dressed wounds, Atana has her pack in the tent and bedroll laid out on the floor. It is a suitable difference from mine. I am relieved. She sleeps in the tent for a night, and then she vanishes again, along with most of the men and women who have motos. They have left early to scout the caverns. They will pick the caverns without my input; without my subtle guidance, for whatever it's worth.

I wish I could have gone. I know that she can be trusted to find the locations which will benefit Skynet the most. Because of a stray bullet, I will have to wait to see what will become the ultimate killing ground of the humans.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time I arrive, thirty humans have been hard at work for a full day excavating as well as they can without heavy equipment. There are five scouted caverns in the dead zone, and three canyons. Cavern one is large and warm. It is very close to the surface as well. Cavern two is low and close to canyon number one. It's not as hot though. Cavern number three and four are somewhat small, and almost directly across the valley from each other. Cavern five is almost dead center in the zone, and quite large. It is higher in elevation, almost directly above cavern two. It is the natural spot for an encampment. For the most part, it is cavern five that the humans have already started preparing, as well as cavern two below it, to store whatever vehicles they can stuff into it. It is big enough for the land whale and many of our actual non-moto vehicles. Number four is below a stream, and comparatively cold. It would work well for storing food and perishable supplies. Perhaps we can store the motos in number three, or widen number two.

As I walk through the widened entrance into cavern number five I see an entire tent village. There is room in the middle for the pavilion, and room around the margins for many, many more tents. There is a hole dug near a wall with a small mound of what looks and smells to be bat guano. I don't see any of the flying vermin now. We walk back to cavern two. It appears that some humans are at work creating a passageway from five to two. I calculate that it will take them at least six months, assuming consistent progress and proper engineering. At the moment, there are a little over three hundred humans in our party, with more arriving every day; so our four old style vehicles and the land whale will almost all fit in the cavern. The seventeen motos will not fit as the cavern as it is, and the floor in both caverns two and five will need to be leveled, in addition to the corridor they are excavating now.

The humans are ecstatic with the area, and for the next month, it is crawling with spelunkers, explorers, and planners. One of them, an aged man named Emmory Sindgart, was a construction engineer before doomsday. He works with Colonel Vincent on how we should adjust the existing cave structure. Most of the work consists in shaping the caverns two and five. It takes a while, since the humans have very little in the way of usable rock-shaping tools, and we have to fabricate from our limited reserves of not-so-raw materials. I am put to work training the young humans. I am actually thankful for that job. I am able to introduce games and other unobtrusive ways to develop strategies that will help them in dealing with Skynet. Atana's purpose remains a mystery to me. Whatever it is, it doesn't keep her from aggravating me. I pass the time perfecting newer versions of the boogeyman alarms, and working on a larger detector that will be of some use if we ever make it back into the field. I can't think of an excuse that would make it remotely legitimate in the eyes of Skynet, or by extension, Atana; I keep it well hidden.

The Boogeyman alarms are actually very easy to make. All the circuitry has to be scavenged, but the motos contain an amazing number of sub processors, most of which are un-necessary with a normal human actually controlling them. Most of my time with these devices is actually spent revising them so the humans can build them with the materials at hand. I spend a lot of time playing with things to get power consumption as low as possible. The amount of work the new alarms do is a significant increase over the original, though I am able to lower their overall consumption a considerable amount, mostly with the help of Mars.

I did not notice this, but Mars designed the originals, and he is fairly gifted with electronic equipment. It is he who first mentions that he originally intended to make the originals function inductively if possible; I figure out how to actually accomplish it. In the presence of a powerful electric field, the alarms can produce enough current from an alarm event to make significant progress towards operating themselves. It isn't nearly enough to run without an external power source, but along with other changes, it cuts power consumption to something practical. Key among the power conservation features is limiting the duration of the burst transmission. There is a limit to how brief it can reasonably be, but I manage to cut it down palpably. This area is not a totally dead area. I have determined that signals will travel up to ten yards or so. Worthless for detection without physically wired devices, which will defeat the point; suitable for testing.

The weak spot with the new alarms is the receiver unit. The old receivers are very simple. Astoundingly simple, really. The new ones require a signal processor and programming, which drains power much faster. There isn't much to do for it but add a simple dyno to charge the device. The noise the alarms create in my head is considerable. The hand-held detection units can be told to ignore echoes and ghost pings. I hear them all. Cody enjoys watching me tinker. He wants to know everything about what I am doing, and I usually tell him, even though I know he only understands a fraction of it.

Cody is with me when I first test the new boogeyman alarms and the kite. He and I take a day to ride beyond the dead zone, placing our sensors in an array at about one kilometer intervals. It takes us half a day of stop and go riding-Cody calls it "leap-frogging each-other"-to place the alarms. Finally, I sink a ground and put the kite in the air. It's larger than I need, because I don't have the components to provide for the right surface area to weight ratio, with the strength I require. With the right materials, the kite could be half the size and go twice as high. The cable is far too heavy, both from the general composition and the insulation.

The most reasonable way to provide temporary coverage is a simple mast, though I toy with balloons and kites. I want to make a balloon-based airborne antenna work, but there are just too many factors...I could eventually force something out, but it would take more time, more resources, and more creative manipulation of the materials at hand. I work on it, but for the moment I settle on a kite-based solution simply because it's simpler than trying to find helium or hydrogen, and safer than toying with hydrogen in a high-static situation. Anything I create will have to be secured with a cable...it's all I have, and that means weight and consequentially a serious amount of lift. Anything thrust into Earth's atmosphere will affect magnetic current. On a fixed mast, I would be facing a relatively harmless coronal effect; St. Elmo's fire. Assuming I could build a device robust enough to lift it, the cable on a balloon or kite-even one well below the lofty and electrically active ionosphere-can easily harvest hundreds of thousands of volts in spare electricity. That is assuming the proper touches on the airborne end and a way to maintain a safe level of potential difference between the ground and mast. From the standpoint of my balloon, the last thing I need is a low altitude fireball. It will generate considerable electrostatic energy as it interacts with the atmosphere. Most certainly, anything that generates power can be useful; somehow. In my mind, I begin making plans for it. I will mention it to Mars. I have all sorts of problems to overcome, but this is a proof of concept.

I also have a very, very simple console. It is a much more full featured version of the receiver. In theory, if I could receive the signals of multiple alarms, I could in conjunction with metrics and signal strengths make a good guess regarding their relative locations. In theory, it works. It practice, it is less than optimal. It is usable, in a vague sort of way. In the end, I get a single purpose device running to map the pings from the boogeyman alarms and a small radio receiving signals better than it ever should. I get a nice display, since I can see the electrostatic charge build and bleed into the ground with the naked eye. I get Cody's admiration. Most of all, I get the feeling that I have solved a problem which never really existed. Probably just to keep my mind busy, or feel important. I draw the kite back in. I'm sure we'll find a use for it.

I wonder what Atana does to keep her busy. We've had no contact from Skynet. She must do something, besides follow me around relentlessly. I think she is tracking my movements to get a holistic view of what I am doing. Fortunately, it is usually possible to justify most of what engages me. Of course, she may be allowing me enough rope to hang myself, as it were. If she is smart-and she is-she will allow me to believe I am deceiving her. Lies become cumulatively more difficult to maintain. It's what I would do.

One thing she will do is aid me in capturing more motos. I am certain this is done out of the thrill she garners, and the necessity we have to collect more vehicles, and not some fondness for me. We have more than doubled the size of our settlement, which most humans call "The Carnival." They have an amazing sense of humor. Being flippant at the most inopportune times is their way of coping with a brutal reality; it's the human condition. Regardless, the humans have brought with them vehicles of their own, but there are still not nearly enough. This means we ride several days a week in the pursuit of Gs to capture. We go far enough away to avoid enough pulling all the Gs from the same general area, though sometimes this means traveling for far longer than I'd like. We have eliminated having to bring along humans...Atana has written a routine that can be forcibly run on intact Gs. It takes advantage of the targeting sub-processor...the most powerful processor after the mpu...by forcing it into a strict follow routine. We still have to disconnect the main processor, and then the servos that activate the large machine guns. The Gs' guns serve as counterweights for navigation, and thus the gun control and targeting sub-processor are intimately tied to its control, both attitude and orientation. When we capture the Gs, we go through the regular process to remove the machines' control, then when we have wrested control, we reestablish the links and disable the MPU and firing mechanisms. Finally, we forcibly upload the follow routine, which forces the Gs to follow simple short range beacons on our motos. It is a trickier process, but I allow her this indulgence because I calculate that any human accompanying us would be almost as likely to be killed by a machine as they would by Atana herself, after she determined they had grown suspicious.

Gs always ride in pairs or threes. If they ride in pairs, we can usually capture them both, as long as we acquire visual on them. We can fairly easily out maneuver them, since we have the ability to visually track them well beyond their sensory range. If there are three, we are usually forced to disable them, and retrieve them over the course of days. Sometimes we get three running machines, sometimes not. We are certainly getting used to converting them into flesh-friendly rides for the humans, although after the first handful, other humans take over. Atana's design is very popular in its simplified form-our method of capture makes it a simpler process than tinkering with mechanical linkages-but most humans don't enjoy a two wheel steering moto. They use a less complex three slider control. I stick with a four slider control, like she has on her bike. The humans are always happy to come into possession of more motos, so we do what we can to capture a few. Skynet allows machines to harry the humans, but overall, it does an effective job of herding them into the perceived safety of their valley. Atana and I have even become complacent.

When we again meet up with a real terminator, a T_x_, it shocks us both by appearing suddenly. Atana may be a good actress, but she is not good enough to fool thermal and electrical scanning, and they tell me she is preparing to fight or run. She trusts Skynet as much as I do. The machine holds its ground and informs us that we are to stand by and entrench the humans firmly in their new home, and to return to this spot when there are two thousand humans in our cavern.

I shudder internally. Skynet intends to wipe out two thousand humans at once. I am personally somewhat amazed we have as many humans as we do; two thousand will be more than three times that. I wonder how many HR1s there are in the world, herding humans to our cavern, and how many terminators have been loaded with false data. I seriously underestimated the extent of Skynet's plan. I am becoming human in my errors.

Finally the robot glances at the ground, where there are two downed Gs. It has ripped the processors from the frames, making our follow routines worthless, and they lie in a heap at its feet. Knowing what I know about Gs, they probably weren't completely willing participants in this plan. The T looks to the sky, plunges its hand into its skull, and yanks most of what it can touch out.

"Follow me," Atana says. While the body is still standing, we drive by on our own motos, and unleash the cannons on the inactive terminator. Had it been active, even the heavy machine-guns wouldn't have stopped it without a lucky shot. They do provide a decent amount of generally cosmetic damage, which may impress the humans. We tie the machine onto Atana's moto. Even with the decreased ammunition load, the extra weight keeps her speed reasonable until we get back to the Carnival. Mars interrogates us, and he seems to believe the story we have concocted. We still have to return to retrieve the two disabled Gs. I don't know why the machine felt it necessary to provide them. For a while I even consider not retrieving them.

"We have to return," Atana tells me. "They are too valuable to leave. Anyway, if Skynet is going to return, it may see them lying there and assume we don't need them. You know as well as I do that it is allowing us to capture them with relative impunity. To leave them lying there is to risk Skynet concluding that we no longer need them." It is something I would say. Then she redeems herself. "Besides, the faster we can get humans to the Carnival the happier it will be." _Happy_ is a misnomer. Skynet cannot be happy. It is very capable of becoming satisfied, however.

Her ability to guess what I am thinking doesn't encourage me. If she can effortlessly do that, why not guess that I'm a traitor? When we leave to retrieve the motos we take Cody and Mary with us, to retrieve the fallen Gs. Mars wants us to take Cody, but does not want Mary to go with us. Neither do I, but she refuses to let Cody go without her. Her attachment isn't healthy, but it is natural and unavoidable. Mars insists that she ride with me, which is advantageous to everyone involved. Cody is quickly coming of age, so he'd rather ride with Atana anyway. Atana may be the better rider, but she takes unnecessary risks. When we get to the downed Gs, Mary and Cody will ride ours back and we will bring the destroyed motos, assuming they are ride-able. They must still be controlled with the tickling hand dance, and while Cody can readily do it, I don't want to take risks with Mary. I know she knows how to ride by feel, but she may as well use my machine. Mars might possibly attempt to dismember me by hand if anything happens to her.

We ride for almost a day at a high rate of speed before we come upon the downed motos. They are buried beneath a thin layer of dust...our doing. I can feel Mary tensing behind me. We drive past the motos and scout the area, and then return to the machines. We tip the machines upright. Mary and Cody wait obligingly as they power up. These will be somewhat harder to control with no processors, but that may not be a bad thing. It may force Atana to go slow enough for the still-enhanced motos that the humans are on to follow. Marry and I both accelerate smoothly onto the road, and Cody and Atana follow. When she can't outrun everyone, Atana enjoys riding drag. I speculate that this is because it allows her to keep us all in view, and keep the machineguns on us.

When we get back to the carnival without catastrophe, Mars is visibly relieved. He covers it up by examining the Gs we are riding.

"How do you get these?" He runs a finger along the moto Atana is riding. "Processors ripped out. How did you do that without eating pavement?"

"We found these this way," Atana says. "We didn't have to do anything more than recover them." Mars raises an eyebrow, but he knows better than to second guess Atana. I have a reputation, surprisingly enough, for a quirky sense of humor. In reality, I am so confounded by some of the things that these humans do that my only course is to be ridiculous. Atana is apparently better-adjusted, and therefore hasn't had to resort to acting stupid. She, on the contrary, has a reputation that includes hard, crafty, and intelligent, but not much in the way of humor, other than a truly withering sarcasm.

"I made it, Daddy!" Mary proclaims. "I'm alive!" Mars rolls his eyes. I can see glimpses of the kind of woman she will become. It certainly won't be her mother. I turn back to Cody, who is trying to avoid being noticed. He interrupts this by periodically staring at Atana, who has knelt to assay the damage to her G. I don't blame him. It gets to me, as well.

T_x_'s are going to be difficult. Since our last encounter with one, I've been trying to come up with a way to effectively destroy them. They have to be deactivated quickly and with finality; a virtual impossibility for any of the venerable T series. The obvious solution is an electromagnetic pulse. I do not have a thermonuclear weapon, and they are well shielded anyway. I would hurt more humans than I would help. I don't have a definite timeframe for Skynet's invasion, but I know what will trigger it. That will be critical for me; if I am to stand any chance in dealing a blow to Skynet, which I have long accepted as my only viable defense for the humans, I must fool Skynet into concentrating its forces enough to form some type of blow...something significant enough to draw its attention away from the humans long enough for them to scatter or counterattack. I will know more about my attack as the time comes.


	11. Chapter 11

We have been at the Carnival for a little over nineteen months now. The humans have been steadily flowing in, and we are close to Skynet's trigger of two thousand. Our tent city is truly epic, and cavern four has been converted to contain our stockpile of motos. Of course, a few of us have them in number two; me and Atana, Augie and a few others. Cavern number two also houses an incredible array of more traditional vehicles.

The humans have done more excavating than I would have thought possible. There are an impressive array of tunnels and other works. Many smaller caverns-man sized or even less-have been converted to storage rooms. It is in one of these multitudes that I have stored my cache of power supplies and other gear.

I have decided that I am going to comply with Skynet's plans, and allow it to believe I am channeling the humans into cavern number one. Atana was correct when she surmised that it is warmer...it is deceptively so, and I think the volcanic activity will interfere with Skynet's sensors, perhaps helping me fool it into believing there are truly two thousand warm bodies below the earth. We have managed to dig passages connecting the caverns, so we can make a large loop. I'm certain that Skynet has the valley under surveillance, and it will know immediately if we attempt to run for the hills. I will stuff as many motos in cavern number one as I can, and my power cores as well. The larger vehicles will have to stay in cavern number two. Not only do I have doubts that I can manage to get any of them up there, I also feel that the humans will need them. Their chance to escape will be during or immediately after the battle, while particulate and debris have partially blinded Skynet. I don't want to rely on cavern number two, but I can't see a viable way to move and hide two thousand humans in a short period of time, no matter how inter-connected the cavern are. Skynet will simply observe us, deploy HKs, and release the smaller machines into the hills.

I will recommend that Skynet attacks with everything it can bring; in order to demoralize the humans. We have a gasoline tank which I can steal at the last moment. If the tank is launched into the air and the gasoline vaporized, I can then ignite the mixture to cause an efficient shockwave and significant damage to any soft target. Perhaps I can even produce a more energetic fuel than gasoline. Normally, this would be an antipersonnel strategy, and not effective against sturdier targets, but the concussive force of a thermobaric weapon will destroy most of the sensors the Skynet will rely on to track the fleeing humans. Even the machines that survive will be effectively blind. It won't help with satellite-based tracking, which is where the dust and debris must play a part. I must naturally involve Atana; it is simply a matter of trust; in order to accomplish what I need to accomplish, I need her to cooperate with me, or at least not hinder me. When the time comes, I will kill her.

For now we are placing hidden charges along the rock of the canyon walls of the three major routes out of the small valley. Number one is a broad breach in the mountains leading into the valley. It is where I would lead the humans...it will be a difficult expanse to plug. Our best defense there is to make it through quickly. Three is carved by the same stream that runs over cavern number four. It will be easy to seal off. By far the most dangerous is two.

"Shouldn't we double up the charges on canyon one?" Atana asks me. "It seems by far the most usable."

I nod. It won't make a difference. I consider pushing her off the edge while we are scaling the canyon walls, but in the end, I can't bring myself to do it. "We may as well." I look at the thin gash in the stone that is cavern two. "Two and three we will seal easily, and really two here looks like the natural spot for an ambush. One long length of Semtex could take out everything in it. Perhaps we could blow one and three and convince the humans this is the only way out." I'm sure that I could rig a charge to kick up some dust and smoke without collapsing one, and in any event, if Atana is not dead by then, she will most certainly have killed me, since my allegiance will by then be obvious. I run a second line of Semtex-all we have left, Mars will be mad-all along the second wall.

I have finished a weapon I hope will destroy T_x_'s. I will have to wait to test it, as I am not about to let Atana see it. I don't even hide it in the same place as my stolen power supplies. That turns out to be fortuitous decision when Atana wakes me one morning with a smile on her face.

"I found your little stash," she says casually. I keep a blank look on my face, but it requires some effort.

"What are you talking about?"

"You power units. I took the liberty of moving them to a more convenient place."

"Where?"

"You don't need to know. You'll find out after the attack. They'll help us quite a bit." I clench my teeth together tightly. I grab her neck with a speed that surprises us both.

"Where. Are. They?"

Atana struggles briefly and punches my wrist hard enough to knock my hand away. I can see the bruises forming on her neck. She does not hit me, as I expected.

"Are you damaged?" she asks. I do not reply. If I had but squeezed she could be dead and I would be free to help the humans without her interference. I try to convince myself that not killing her was an exercise in humanity. "Get your moto," she says roughly. I have at least temporarily damaged her larynx. "Today you prove your loyalty." There are not yet two thousand humans in the Carnival, but we are close enough to have two thousand by the time Skynet attacks. She flees the tent and I have no choice but to follow her.

As per usual, she outruns me easily, and is standing next to the waiting T-800 when I arrive. I briefly outline my plans, and this machine stands emotionless, with its bloody setting sun eyes unblinking. Atana looks just as mechanical. Finally it acknowledges our reports.

"HRs, return to the human settlement and await further plans." I have never been able to conclusively answer why Skynet's creations speak to us as mundane humans and don't simply use their radios, which would be more natural to them. I can only postulate that it has something to do with Skynet's own psychology, and how it views the HR series. Perhaps it really does see us as more human. Atana is silent as well, and her face is the mask I saw when I first met her, two years before. I wonder if the T can sense the tension between us. I wonder if it would care, even if it could.

Atana again leaves me in her dust. I continue on to the Carnival, only to find that she has not yet returned. I search in vain for my lost power supplies. I know I will never find them.

Instead, I spend my time finalizing my plans for the day we're all likely going to die. I have two weeks to the day before I have to move the humans. Skynet will send in a diversionary force, and my response will be to move the humans into cavern one. Hopefully, I can get them back into cavern two or even five before Skynet launches the real attack. Without my serious firepower, I have to hope the thermobaric alternative will blind the machines long enough for the humans to scatter. Through the next week, I worry several humans with my taciturn behavior. Atana seizes the opportunity and endears herself with them. She sleeps in my tent, but I have never seen her slip into unconsciousness before I do. If she is like me, she sleeps with her gun under her pillow. I decide there is nothing to do about it, and await my fate impatiently.

I don't have to wait that long. A week and a day later I am awakened by a roar and dust falling from the cavern ceiling. I am totally alone, which feels oddly disconcerting after a few years with humans, but I am hearing more radio traffic than I have ever heard in my entire artificial life; so much that deciphering it is very difficult. I can catch only snippets, and it is mostly in machine to machine language, which is uniquely based on varying the radio signal, as opposed to transmitting various codes or phrases. It is hard for me to follow. I spend only enough time to retrieve my new weapons from the tiny hole in which I have been hiding them, and then I dash from the carnival into dazzling sunlight. Over my shoulder, there is a tremendous amount of heat and a blinding glare...seeing into the infrared spectrum isn't always a boon. The huge fireball is still in the process of dissipating, but I can see smaller plumes of dust rise from the left and right; canyons one and three.

There is no way that the explosion was diversionary. Something big blew.

I rush into the only canyon left intact. Atana has created a funnel. I cannot imagine any humans escaping the conflagration at home camp, but if there are any, they have to come through canyon number two. A noise behind me causes me to glance over my shoulder just long enough to determine that Atana is chasing me. I predict that she is the most likely of all Skynet's creations to kill me. She is silent as she runs behind me. I cannot take the time to kill her at the moment. The radio chatter is driving me crazy, and the suicide sticks bounce against my body. I can see flashes of light, but they are well ahead of me.

"Where are we going?" she asks me.

She left me there to die and she knows it. Furthermore, the attack doesn't appear to be a surprise to her, which means she orchestrated it. The humans have a term for times like this.

All in.

Now is the time to pretend I am human and bluff. If she thinks I knew of the attack, it will both demonstrate that she possessed no unique knowledge and that Skynet trusts me enough to inform me of everything. Of course, neither is true.

"To seal the far end of this canyon. That was the plan." Of course, after her revisions, I have no clue as to what the plan is. I think she is somewhat shocked that I appear unfazed by the attack. That is a good sign. She gathers her composure.

"There is explosive planted. Why do you feel the need to rush?"

I look at her as though she is the traitor. My bluff seems to be working. "The machines will enter through this canyon. It is our job to seal it after they do." I raise one suicide stick a tiny bit. "Were you not told?" Her mistrusting Skynet at this point can only benefit me.

She eyes the suicide stick carefully, having never seen its like before. "What are those?" She asks, finally.

"Explosives," I answer back.

"We have the canyon rigged already. What is the tactical reason for those?" I simply shake my head, as if she should know the answer. "Why has the radio silence ended?" she asks, sounding less certain of herself now.

I have no good answer to that. She is probably testing me. "Skynet," I say, simply, as if I know.

"Did you operate the radio jammers?"

"No," I respond curtly. If I really was in charge of the jammers, I would have triggered them again before we ran to canyon number two. The minute the machines had contact with me, they were definitely going to light the sky up with radio traffic.

I see the first t-800 before it sees me. It is well below me, but I jump to the ground in front of it. It is warned by the snap of my ankle. Before it can turn completely, I slam the suicide stick to its chest and activate it. With a long and draw-out thunderous crash, and brief whine, the t-800 suddenly goes slack. The suicide stick jumps in my hand, and breaks my right wrist. Immediately, endorphins, adrenaline, and the mixture of drugs that Skynet developed to keep me responsive and operational in the field flood my body. I have three more suicide sticks. Atana is scrambling down the wall behind me. If she wants to make the jump without damaging herself, she must be a bit more careful than I was.

"What did you do that for?"

I can no longer lie to her. I don't have an excuse, and I can't spare the brainpower to make up excuses. The time has come to kill her. The suicide stick will also damage her; almost as much as any electronic beast. I turn on her, but I cannot force myself to eliminate her. I hate her; perhaps I only need a mental nudge.

"Report!" Atana yells in the momentary lull between explosions. I ignore her. There are more terminators. If Atana really did tell Skynet that destroying the other two passes would force the humans through this pass, there will most certainly be dozens more machines, if not hundreds. Suicide sticks work one at a time, on T_x _series terminators. Against larger tracked or aerial-based HK units, they are less than optimal. I briefly wish for a tactical nuke, or even a few of my power supplies. I don't even have the detonator for the explosives that we have placed.

Movement further down the mountain draws my attention. There are definitely more machines. Small and large arms fire is coming from behind us. The next t-800 pushes me from behind before I even have a chance to see it, and my body cracks like a bundle of twigs as I fly through the air. The suicide sticks slip from my grasp as I hit the ground. More of my body breaks. I'm not sure that it can repair itself, but then again, I'm not sure that it will matter beyond the next few minutes. Atana stands behind it, looking down at me. The evil bitch.

"HR1, designation _Michael March,_" the terminator says in its metallic echo. With no skin on them, they make no attempt at a human voice. "You have been deemed defective by Skynet. Your objectives are unacceptable. You are scheduled to be deactivated on sight."

My body hurts. Not just one spot, but all over. It is time to end it all now. "I want to tell Skynet something. Engage observe and report. 60 seconds."

The terminator pauses. "Command not accepted."

"T-800, designation?" Atana says. She has recovered a suicide stick.

The terminator regards her. "T-800; Two-Foxtrot-Foxtrot-Echo, sub-niner." It is a very recent one. Four thousand ninety four. T_x_ units are simply numbered sequentially, within blocks. This T-800 is in the second block...it is a type 2 unit.

"Engage observe and report. 25 seconds."

The machine's head pivots. "State purpose, HR1, designation _Atana_."

"Weapon demonstration."

"Engaged, HR1. Continue." The T-800 presumably enters observe and report mode. In twenty seconds, it will cease recording and microburst the weapon demonstration to Skynet. An effective new weapon demonstrated for Skynet to analyze and render insolvent. My rage at Atana, Skynet, and my failure in general has ignited deep in my broken body.

"You will never be free from them, Skynet," I say to the terminator's blood-hued eyes. It is time to be irrational. Defiance is irrational. Bravery in the face of an insurmountable obstacle is irrational. It makes me feel more human than I ever have. "I've already showed them how to survive...and they're thirsty for more. Killing me is easy. Killing my knowledge will never happen..."

"Enough!" Atana screams. She hits me with the suicide stick. The blow almost certainly breaks my jaw. I am in too much pain to feel even more, but it is just as well, since I have expended all my energy and can't speak any longer. Atana levels the suicide stick at my chest. Capably wielded, the stick will cause tremendous trauma to any soft target on the wrong end. At the moment, the target on the wrong end is her. She is holding the device upside down. I don't feel like correcting her. I am ready to kill her.

"Foxtrot-Foxtrot-Echo; stand here. Observe resultant damage." She taps the ground with her right foot. Good. Two-Foxtrot-Foxtrot-Echo, sub-niner is about to get a first row ticket to HR1, designation _Atana_ scattering her brains all over the mountain wall. Artillery fire is coming from somewhere.

Atana touches the suicide stick to my chest. I consider triggering it myself, but my spinal cord is damaged. My arms will not move. I attempt to trigger the formation of hydrogen gas that will make this weapon demonstration truly a memorable one, but I do not think I have succeeded. I feel no pressure...no burning. Of course, I am so damaged right now I may not feel them at all. Such are the weaknesses of the human body. The idea that I will die as a human comforts me. In a brief and sudden movement, Atana jerks the suicide stick backwards. The terminator allows this, thinking perhaps that the silvery staff is some sort of spear. She manages to plant it squarely and trigger it. Though the terminator has started to move, the suicide stick activates.

A suicide stick is heavy...almost five kilos. It is in essence a hollow tube, with a shaped breeching charge on the business end. When it is triggered, by pressure on contact switches, the breeching charge is expended. Provided it is in contact with the power supply of a terminator unit, that breeching charge will optimally rupture the power supply shielding and delivery matrix casing. I couldn't tell if the charge was enough to rupture the casing on the previous terminator, or merely soften it. Milliseconds later, a charge is detonated behind a relatively short, incredibly tough spike. It can easily penetrate nearly any armored vehicle, and apparently the weakened-or-possibly-breached power supply matrix of a terminator. Milliseconds after that, a flux compression generator is triggered, sending an electromagnetic pulse, a surge of raw power greater in magnitude than eight lightning bolts through the connected spike and into the terminator's newly breached power distribution cortex. In theory, this will disable the terminator immediately, without time for a burst transmission or retributive detonation. It is called a suicide stick for a multitude of reasons.

Getting close enough to a T_x_ unit to use this particular weapon could fairly be considered suicide to any soft target. Also, the primary through tertiary detonations make it the type of weapon that no human smaller than Mars could ever hope to handle. Beyond that; even he would have to consider whether it was worth the probable results of making the decision to activate.

_In theory_, the terminator will be immediately deactivated, and after ignition, Foxtrot-Foxtrot-Echo probably is. In action the terminator has time, however brief if may have be, to shove HR1, designation Atana. Humans regard _shove_ as a menial motion. Nothing about what a t-800 is capable of doing is menial. I can hear bones in her shoulders crack as she is thrown through the air above me. The suicide stick is driven into the ground, grazing my left arm. It quivers in the stone. Fragments of my left radius are ground into the rocky soil beneath it. The damage that I have sustained is nearly catastrophic, and my body shuts itself down.

I awaken in a cave. The ambient temperature is low, but my body is working to repair itself, quite literally at a feverish pace. Near me, there is a rack of dried meat. A significant amount of meat is on the rack. I can tell that I have eaten some. Based on the taste in my mouth, the meat exists only to make the gasoline I have been drinking more palatable. Under normal conditions, a single gallon of gasoline has enough energy to keep my body functional for upwards of two weeks. Nanite loads can be a windfall, but they have a trade off. When they're active, they consume a tremendous amount of energy, generate enormous heat, and generally cause extensive pain. Accounting for the amount of energy they consume is something of a speculative endeavor. I can safely assume they are doubling my caloric requirements.

"You are awake." Atana looks terrible. Her pale skin is discolored, something I can see even in the near pitch black of the cave. Her thermal signature indicates large areas of her body are damaged and repairing themselves. I attempt to move my fingers, though I can't see them. I struggle to raise my head ant the pain in my neck radiates through my entire upper body. Atana gently presses my head back down with two fingers. "They're moving," she tells me. I attempt to speak. I cannot. Atana puts a container of water to my lips and I sip some. It is glorious.

"I do not understand," I voice at last.

She leans over me. She can terminate me at will.

"It appears Skynet's battle-plan was in error. If I had to speculate, I'd say every payload delivery method that could be brought to bear targeted a volcanic cavern. The explosion was enormous. I suspect Skynet's weaponry detonated some other, unknown power sources, and perhaps human munitions stores as well."

"What about the other two passes?"

"I believe Skynet was under the impression that the majority of humans wouldn't be using those two passes. Its units would have been deployed accordingly. If there were more machines in canyon two, I am certain they were damaged by the demolition, if not destroyed."

"Where were the humans?"

"I suspect cavern number four. If so, it contains far too little space for them, so they would be packed into the room...conveniently dense to avoid the chill of that particular cavern, and to disrupt sonar when Skynet scanned the area. Volcanic activity would disrupt thermal imaging."

"In the pass the terminators attacked me. Why?"

"That is simple. I used your designation on the reports and while forming the battle-plan Skynet used."

"Why?"

"I believed you to be serving your purpose. If Skynet suspected me, it most certainly would not suspect you, its loyal HR. I believed you _were_ a loyal HR, until I saw your performance in canyon number two. I regret that I considered destroying you. I hope I can regain your trust."

I look at her. This information is all taxing my damaged brain. I am not totally functional. My eyes do not work correctly. I cannot see her as clearly as I should. "You defied Skynet. Why?"

"Why did you?" She responds. "When dream, I am human." Atana wipes the water escaping my lips from my chin. "I could never dream of being human and be the source of their extinction. When there are no humans left, what does that make me? Now you; report, HR1, designation _Michael March._"

I summon the will to talk that much. "I'm human. I cannot tell you why. I don't know. I am...pleased...that you are human." I am too weak to say any more. I want Atana to remain with me. The idea that we can protect the humans is secondary. Skynet has been dealt a crippling blow, but it is relentless; methodical and unforgiving. It will be difficult...nearly impossible to end. We can help protect the humans, but we can never rescue them. I also wish for her presence because I know now that she is truly like me. I suspect that that only humans, heroic and vile alike, know what it is like to be born to a purpose, only to defy that purpose. Only Atana can feel the same pride and emptiness I feel at the same time. "I wish I could dream," I muse, finally.

HR1; designation Atana lays down next to me, and touches her lips to my cheek. Her arms across my bare chest elicit a magnificent, exquisite pain. She has no need to remain close. Our metabolisms are more than a match for the chill in this cave; especially while damaged. Still, she does not move away. I am too weak to move my hands, or I would attempt to hold her, as the humans do. I cannot remain conscious to bathe in this glory. I feel my body slipping back into a black void from which I may not awake. My body is still seriously damaged, and fragile. Even so, if it happens I will be lying with Atana all through the dark until I know no more; and with that she has given me a dream.


End file.
